


Breathing's Just a Rhythm

by MollyPollyKinz



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Withdrawal, Amputation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, DadSchlatt, Gaslighting, Gen, Good Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Insane Wilbur Soot, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, They all need a hug, Time Travel, Tommy needs a hug, Tubbo needs a hug, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 64,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyPollyKinz/pseuds/MollyPollyKinz
Summary: POGTOPIA???WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE??TIMETRAVELBLADE. technotravel“Chat, I did not time travel,” Techno said exhaustedly, “I don’t know what gave you that idea, but please calm yourselves.”The voices started obnoxiously whispering at the top of their lungs.HE DOESN’T KNOW. PANICOr: Tommy, Tubbo, Jschlatt, and Dream all end up in the past. (Oh, and the Chat comes too)
Relationships: Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 2506
Kudos: 4590
Collections: MCYT Fic Rec





	1. Chapter 1

Tommy jerked awake with a start. He tried to breathe, but all he could manage were some pained gasps.

_Dream wasn’t here. Tommy was safe with Techno. Tommy was safe._

The air in his room was musty. It reminded Tommy of Pogtopia.

Breathing became harder.

As Tommy tried to pull himself together, the door slammed open. Tommy didn’t bother to look up at Techno. He knew that he was being too loud, but Tommy couldn’t stop.

“Tommy, what’s going on in here?”

It wasn’t Techno. Tommy could recognize Ghostbur’s voice anywhere, but it was… different. More down to earth. He sounded like…

“Wilbur?” Tommy whispered.

Tommy flinched when a hand firmly grasped him by the shoulder. “Yeah, it’s me. Another nightmare?”

Tommy glanced up at his older brother and stopped breathing entirely.

It was Wilbur. Wilbur was standing right in front of him. He was real, and he was living, and Tommy could feel his hand firmly on his own shoulder, and—

And he was wearing the trench coat.

This was another nightmare; Tommy knew it had to be another nightmare. But it felt _so_ real.

Tommy’s brain went on autopilot. “I don’t get nightmares,” he said, trying to sound bold and utterly failing, “I’m a big man, Wilbur.”

He let the name roll off his tongue. _Wilbur._ Not Ghostbur. _Wilbur._

His older brother. The man that haunted his nightmares. His older brother. A madman.

Wilbur caressed Tommy’s cheek, and he tried not to lean into the touch too much. Wilbur didn’t care about him.

But this was a nightmare. It didn’t matter much anyway. Maybe he should be glad that Wilbur was acting nice for a change. Typically, the Wilbur in his nightmares was threatening him in some way.

“Oh, Toms,” Wilbur whispered, sounding comforting, “We both know you’re just a kid behind that bravado.”

Tommy’s brain was screaming at him. Screaming that it was a trap. That he should run. That he should leave before he be wrapped around Wilbur’s thumb.

But who cared anyway? This was just a nightmare. Wilbur was alive. Tommy should be allowed to enjoy it. It wasn’t like Wilbur was hurting him. He hadn’t even insulted him yet.

There was still an unsettled feeling in his stomach as he hugged Wilbur, feeling his brother’s chest rise and fall, feeling his brother’s heart beat strongly. Alive. Not dead.

“What was it about?” Wilbur asked, as if comforting a small child.

Tears burned the corners of Tommy’s eyes, but not because he was scared or sad. This was quite possibly the best dream he had experienced in months. Wilbur was alive, and he was comforting him, and it felt _so good._

It also felt real. _Too_ real. A little niggle in his mind wondered if this wasn’t a dream.

Tommy dismissed such thoughts. It had to be a dream, what else could it be?

“Dream was there,” Tommy said, “And Schlatt.”

Wilbur stiffened at Schlatt’s name. Tommy stiffened in turn. He forgot that Wilbur didn’t like Schlatt to be mentioned. He couldn’t remember if there were any consequences for it, or if Wilbur would just look at him with that disappointed look.

Tommy didn’t look forward to either of the options.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Toms,” Wilbur cooed, “But let’s not talk about that man, okay?”

Tommy nodded, feeling relief wash over him.

Eventually Wilbur let go. “Come on,” he said, “Breakfast and then time for work.”

This was becoming a suspiciously long dream. As he stumbled out of bed, Tommy pinched himself.

It hurt.

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a dream after all. Maybe Tommy was just going insane. He was living in a hallucination. Had Tommy eaten anything strange recently? Tommy didn’t think so.

They ate a breakfast of potatoes, and Wilbur sent Tommy to mine for resources. Tommy did so without complaint. This hallucination was getting scarily realistic, and Tommy knew what would happen if he didn’t obey.

Tommy felt his chest squeeze up at the thought, and he forced himself to stay calm. This wouldn’t last forever. Tommy was fine.

It wasn’t until Tommy returned after mining for hours that he started considering the possibility that he was stuck here.

Fortunately, Wilbur seemed happy enough with the supplies he had managed to gather, which was a small blessing, at least. Tommy was trying to figure out what was going on.

Had he time traveled? Was that even a thing that could happen?

 _Dangit,_ Tommy had definitely time traveled. Would he have to relive all of this all over again?

_Wilbur’s insanity. Tubbo dying on that stage. L’manberg exploding. Techno spawning the Withers. Phil killing Wilbur._

Tommy scowled. No. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not again.

So, Tommy did the only logical thing. He pulled out his communicator. He needed to get Phil. Phil would be able to help Wilbur, as long as he didn’t kill him first.

Tommy jumped when Wilbur grabbed him by the wrist.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice suddenly dangerous.

Tommy forced his voice to stay steady. “I was just going to message Phil,” he said, “I thought he might want to know how we’re doing.”

Tommy let out a cry of pain as Wilbur twisted Tommy’s wrist, forcing the communicator out of his hand.

“I thought I told you we can’t trust anyone,” Wilbur said, not letting go of Tommy’s wrist, “Remember, Toms?”

How could he forget? It was the same with Dream too.

“I wasn’t going to call for him,” Tommy lied, “I just thought he wanted to know if we were doing okay. That’s not a crime, is it?”

Tommy shrunk back when he saw Wilbur scowl. “I’m only trying to protect you Tommy. Phil doesn’t care about us.”

Tommy shuddered. He knew he shouldn’t argue, but maybe if he could convince Wilbur that Phil _did_ care, maybe that could be the first step to recovery.

Even inside his head, it sounded like a long shot, but Tommy had to try.

“Phil _does_ care, though.” Tommy’s eyes teared up in pain as Wilbur twisted his wrist further. “He can—”

“ _Tommy,”_ Wilbur snapped.

Tommy flinched violently, and for a moment, he thought he saw Dream towering over him. He blinked, and Wilbur was back, scowling down at Tommy.

Wilbur let go of Tommy, and Tommy quickly cradled his already swelling wrist.

“I think I’ll hold onto this for now,” Wilbur said, swiftly pocketing Tommy’s communicator, “There’s no one you can trust that isn’t already here anyway.”

Tommy didn’t say anything as his now living brother walked away. Tommy had always known this wasn't going to be easy, but maybe this was going to be harder than he thought, which was saying something. 

Tubbo woke up in a bedroom that hadn’t been his in months.

Feeling tired and sleep deprived, he did the only the logical thing and looked out the window.

Tubbo’s jaw dropped. It was _L’manberg._ L’manberg before Wilbur blew everything up and Technoblade spawned the withers. L’manberg before Tubbo worked tirelessly during the reconstruction.

Tubbo’s stomach flipped when he saw a flag outside his window. _Manberg’s_ flag.

Okay, so he was in the past. This was fine. This was totally fine. One day he was president of a country; the next day he was secretary of state to a tyrant. This was fine. Everything was fine.

While he was here, though, Tubbo might as well try to improve things for everyone here.

Quickly shoving on his suit, Tubbo all but sprinted to the White House. When he reached the building, he headed straight toward one of Schlatt’s alcohol stores.

It was early, and the hallways were empty as Tubbo found the bottles of alcohol. Tubbo quickly scooped them up in his arms and turned around to walk to the kitchen.

When he opened up the first bottle of beer, the strong smell almost overwhelmed Tubbo. He shuddered, trying not to think of how he could smell Schlatt’s breath when he screamed in Tubbo’s face.

Tubbo emptied the first bottle into the sink. Then the next, and the next, and the next, until all of the bottles were empty. Then, he began scrounging the White House for all of the alcohol Tubbo could find and emptied them into the kitchen sink.

As Tubbo was emptying the second to last bottle he had, Quackity spoke from behind him. “Uh, Tubbo?”

Tubbo jumped, nearly instinctively hitting Quackity in the head with the glass bottle. Quackity raised his hands in surrender and took a quick step back.

“Sorry, Big Q,” Tubbo sighed, “I didn’t see you there.”

Quackity raised an eyebrow as he lowered his hands. “Yeah, I could tell.” He stared at the empty glass bottles on the kitchen counter. “What are you doing?”

Tubbo glanced down at the bottle he was holding before placing it down and grabbing the last full one on the counter. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked tersely as he dumped it out.

“It looks like you’re emptying the White House of alcohol,” Quackity said, “You know Schlatt won’t like that.”

Tubbo gripped the bottle he was holding tightly, trying not to think about what Schlatt would do when he found out what Tubbo had done. “I know Schlatt’s less dangerous when he’s sober,” Tubbo corrected, half reassuring himself, “and he can be reasoned with.”

Tubbo needed Schlatt to be reasonable. He needed to convince Schlatt to let Tommy back into L’manberg. Tommy couldn’t be left with Wilbur, not again.

Tubbo squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think about what Tommy had said when they had last met.

_Monster._

Tubbo wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t.

_He exiled Tommy. Just like Schlatt. He tried to execute Technoblade, who had been minding his own business. That seemed like something Schlatt would do._

Tubbo let out a shout and threw the empty bottle in his hand at the wall. He winced when it shattered loudly.

Quackity gave Tubbo a shocked look. “What the heck was that?”

Tubbo was breathing heavily, and he massaged his chest, trying to calm the beating of his heart. He wasn’t really sure what happened. It was just all too much. Normally, when that happened, he would just throw a pillow at the wall, but he supposed that the bottle was all that he had in his hand. 

A familiar groan sounded from the doorway, one that Tubbo never thought he had to hear again. Both Tubbo and Quackity froze. Tubbo turned around, staring at Schlatt with dread.

Schlatt was massaging his temple, probably trying to get rid of the headache that came with his morning hangover. He looked much more exhausted than he did in Tubbo’s nightmares.

“What’s going on in here?” he moaned, glancing up at Tubbo and Quackity.

Tubbo instinctively took a step back, wondering how he could possibly hide a bunch of empty glass bottles and the shattered glass on the floor in less than a millisecond.

It was too late. Schlatt’s eyes had already landed on the empty bottles. Tubbo immediately shrank back.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

Tubbo froze when Schlatt smiled. “That’s alright, kid,” he said, “It was probably for the best anyway.”

He continued walking past the kitchen and down the hallway, only bothering to call behind him, “One of you has to clean that glass up!”

Not having any idea of what was going on, Tubbo let out a hysterical laugh. Maybe this was going to be easier than he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is basically my excuse to write good Schlatt and insane Wilbur. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technoblade tries to be a good big brother. Tommy trusts no one. J'schlatt needs to be more careful with his words. Tubbo is politely confused.

Tommy was trying to splint his wrist, which was harder than it may sound, due to the fact that he only really had one hand to do it with.

He still couldn’t believe that he was here. That he was in the past. That Wilbur was a freaking maniac again. If he had to be pushed into the past, couldn’t he have gone before the Election? Maybe then, Tommy would have an easier time of saving his brother from himself.

Oh well, there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

Tommy swore loudly when he dropped a piece of his splint. Moments later, he heard knocking on his door.

Tommy stiffened, wondering if it was Wilbur, before remembering that Wilbur never knocked. He just walked in like he owned the place. Which, in a way, he did.

“Who is it?” Tommy asked, keeping his voice calm. If it wasn’t Wilbur, that only really left two options. Tommy could only hope he landed on the better of the two.

“Technoblade,” Techno said from behind the door.

Tommy relaxed slightly, before reminding himself to keep his guard up. This wasn’t the Techno that helped Tommy stand up to Dream. This was the Techno that was whole-heartedly behind the plan to destroy L’manberg.

“What do you want?” Tommy asked. His voice was terser than he would prefer, but it was hard to keep calm when memories of fireworks, withers, and sad lonely heroes began beating against his skull.

“Can I come in?”

Tommy wasn’t sure why Techno was asking. If he wanted to go in so badly, he could always just open the door. It wasn’t like it was locked or anything.

With that in mind, Tommy sighed. “Fine.”

Technoblade slowly opened the door with a soft creak. Tommy got to his feet as his older brother walked into the room. He looked almost no different than when Tommy had spoken to Technoblade the night before, even though that Technoblade was from the future.

“Hey, Tommy,” Technoblade said. Tommy watched as Techno’s eyes landed on the swelling around Tommy’s wrist.

Techno sighed and looked awkward as he held out a round bottle to Tommy. “This isn’t why I came in here, but I have a potion you can use.”

Tommy frowned at the potion. “You know that Wilbur doesn’t want me using those on punishments.”

From the way Techno’s face flashed, Techno did _not_ know. Tommy tried not to be too confused over it.

“He’ll never know.” Techno’s lips were in a hard line as carefully pressed the potion into Tommy’s good hand. Tommy instinctively gripped the smooth glass tightly.

He would’ve preferred a gapple.

“Why do you care? I thought you were off getting ready to blow up a country.”

Tommy asked, trying not to sound too bitter. All of his bad memories of Techno were associated with this era of Tommy’s life, and he couldn’t help but to wonder why the heck Techno’s decided to be so nice now.

“Hey, I’m all for anarchy, but you’re my brother, and I don’t like seeing you hurt.” Techno hesitated. “Did Wilbur do this to you?”

“He’s just trying to protect me,” Tommy said, the instinctual lie slipping from his lips before he could stop it. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe Wilbur really did believe that he was protecting Tommy.

It didn’t really matter, in the end. Manipulation and abuse was still manipulation and abuse, no matter how either side painted it.

Tommy wished he had realized that sooner.

“Protect you,” Techno repeated dryly. He sounded exactly like future Techno had when Tommy talked about Dream being his friend.

Tommy still got confused when he thought about that too hard. He pushed it out of his mind.

“Why are you doing this now?” Tommy asked suddenly, “This isn’t the first time he’s hurt me.”

Techno’s eyes flashed, and Tommy couldn’t stop himself from flinching back ever so slightly. “What do you mean?” Techno asked.

Tommy stared. Techno… really didn’t know?

“How the heck do you know about this one if you don’t know about all the others?” Tommy asked incredulously.

“Wilbur mentioned that you were trying to contact someone from the outside world, and so he took your communicator away. I didn’t like the sound of that, so I came to ask you if Wilbur did that sort of thing often.” Techno stared at Tommy’s still mottled wrist grimly. “I didn’t realize it had gotten physical.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tommy said quickly. Tommy didn’t want to know how Wilbur would react if Techno left him too. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“And yet you still haven’t drunk that potion because Wilbur told you no?”

Like Tommy was ever going to admit that. Tommy rolled his eyes. “Listen, this will heal up naturally in no time. I’ll keep your potion for later.”

“ _Tommy_.”

Tommy stiffened at the sternness in Techno’s voice.

Techno sighed. “Drink the stupid potion.”

Tommy grimaced, but he uncapped the regen potion and quickly swallowed it down. Warmth spread through his body, and Tommy watched as the swelling in his wrist reduced to nothing.

“Who were you trying to contact earlier?” Techno asked suddenly.

Tommy wanted to trust Technoblade. He really did. But could he? Technoblade was set on his ideals; he wasn’t going to interfere with the plan to destroy Manberg. On the other hand, Technoblade had always had a good relationship with Phil. Maybe Techno wouldn’t mind if Tommy said he was just updating Phil on the situation.

“Phil,” Tommy muttered. He scowled defensively. “You’ve got a problem with it?”

Techno raised his eyebrows. “Any reason?”

Tommy shook his head. “I just wanted to tell him how we’ve been,” he lied. Again.

Techno gently patted Tommy on the shoulder, and Tommy hated the way he flinched away at the touch. Techno quickly moved his hand away.

“I’ll tell him,” Techno said, “I know I’m not around Pogtopia much, but if you need help, you don’t hesitate to come to me.”

Tommy nodded, already knowing he wasn’t going to do that. It was all too complicated for Technoblade to understand. And besides, Tommy still wasn’t sure that he could trust Technoblade at all.

Even though he had been living with his older brother for a couple of weeks, Tommy still had nightmares about the angry words Techno screamed at him on the 16th, or about the bruises that Techno inflicted in the pit.

Tommy’s stomach growled, and he _really_ wished that Techno had brought him a gapple instead.

Technoblade stopped at the doorway. "Oh, and Wilbur told me that Dream was coming over tomorrow. I know there's some bad blood between you and him, so prepare yourself."

Tommy's heart _stopped._

Tubbo was called into Schlatt’s office a few hours after he and Quackity had finished sweeping the glass bits off of the kitchen floor.

Tubbo tried not to feel sick as he approached the familiar door. He tried not to think about the abuse he had endured here before. The abuse he thought he had _escaped_ from.

Schlatt had seemed nicer today. Maybe it was a good day. Maybe Schlatt wouldn’t hurt him.

Oh, who was he kidding? It was never a good day.

Still, Tubbo knew better than to reject Schlatt’s invitation, so he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Tubbo’s heart skipped a beat when he heard Schlatt’s voice again. “Come on in.”

Tubbo opened the door with sweaty palms and stepped inside, hoping that he had managed to create a calm façade.

Schlatt looked… better, for lack of a better word. Tubbo wasn’t sure how to describe it. All of his physical features were the same, and Schlatt was still wearing a spotless suit. But there was something in the way Schlatt was holding himself, the way that Schlatt was smiling, that made Tubbo feel slightly more at ease.

Tubbo still kept his guard up.

“Hey, kid,” Schlatt said, leaning against his chair casually, “Close the door behind you.”

Tubbo complied, feeling vaguely like he was sealing his fate as the door clicked shut.

“You-you wanted something?” Tubbo asked, forcing his voice to stay steady.

Schlatt nodded, leaning forward. “Yeah, I wanted to ask your opinion about something.”

Tubbo swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Schlatt hummed, glancing down at a piece of paper on his desk, “What if I told you that I was going to retract Tommy’s exile? Do you think he’d actually be willing to leave Wilbur?”

Tubbo’s mind blanked. What the hell? Since when did Schlatt want to let Tommy back into Manberg? Tubbo knew for a fact that he had never _considered_ doing anything like that the first time around.

Tubbo stared at Schlatt in shock before realizing that Schlatt was waiting for an answer.

“Well, um…” Tubbo hesitated. “He might not, actually, be willing to leave Wilbur, that is. Tommy’s stupidly loyal like that.”

Which made Tommy’s harsh words toward Tubbo all the worse. Tubbo had destroyed one of the strongest bonds imaginable when he had exiled Tommy.

 _He had to do it. Dream was going to destroy L’manberg otherwise._ He could’ve found another way.

Schlatt seemed to ponder Tubbo’s words for a moment. “Yeah, that tracks,” he said grimly, “Do you think you could persuade him?”

Tubbo started and tried to formulate a response that didn’t involve revealing his treason to Schlatt. Or wait, did Schlatt already know? Better to play it safe than be sorry later.

“Well, I, I could try to track him down I guess. But I don’t even know…”

Schlatt chuckled, and Tubbo stopped abruptly. “Tubbo, I know what you’ve been up to.”

Tubbo froze. He couldn’t breathe. The world was pressing against him like the sides of that small box, and suddenly he was back on that stage. Schlatt was towering over him.

“What-what have I been up to?” Tubbo whispered, echoing his past self. He couldn’t breathe _._ He was going to die _._ Technoblade was going to shoot him full of fireworks and the world was going to explode in color while he _burned—_

A hand touched Tubbo’s back, and Tubbo jumped away, falling onto the ground. He was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die…

 _“_ You’re safe,” Schlatt was saying, “Just try to breathe. _Please.”_

Tubbo forced himself to inhale between sobs. Schlatt kept muttering comforting things to him, and Tubbo didn’t understand what was going on. Wasn’t Schlatt trying to kill him?

Eventually, Tubbo realized that it wasn’t the festival, that he was in Schlatt’s office, and that he had a freaking panic attack in front of Schlatt.

Schlatt, who was staring at him with… concern?

Tubbo held his breath as Schlatt pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _God_ , that was so stupid of me. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking, it didn’t occur to me…” Schlatt took a deep breath. “So, future, huh?”

Tubbo blinked. “Y-you too?”

Schlatt chuckled, standing to his feet. “Yep,” he said, “One day I’m watching Tommy finally stand up to Dream, and the next, I’m lying in my bed with a killer headache.”

As he pushed himself off the ground, Tubbo tried to wrap his mind around this. “You-you were there the whole time?”

Schlatt nodded.

“But why didn’t you come out?”

Schlatt snorted. “Yeah, like that would’ve gone over well. I couldn’t exactly use amnesia as a shield like Ghostbur did.”

That made sense. “Probably not,” Tubbo agreed. He hesitated, eyeing Schlatt suspiciously. “Why-why are you acting so nice all of a sudden?”

Schlatt frowned, staring past Tubbo for a moment. “Let’s just say that death was a bit of an eye opener.” He sighed, sat back down at his desk, and stared at the decree to remove Tommy’s exile. Tubbo thought he looked very tired all of a sudden. “Anyway, Tommy’s not safe with Wilbur, so that’s first on the list.”

Tubbo couldn’t stop himself from feeling like a huge weight had just been lifted off of his shoulders. He wasn’t going to be solely responsible for saving the world, for saving Tommy. He wouldn’t have to singlehandedly try to stop Wilbur, or Technoblade, or Schlatt.

Schlatt smiled, the strangeness of which still sent chills down Tubbo’s spine. “Don’t worry kid, I’ve got it from here.” He looked back down at his papers and paused. “Could you go tell Quackity that we have some TNT to dig up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both the boys have PTSD. Somebody give them a hug. 
> 
> I'll have a Schlatt interlude sometime in the next couple of chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technoblade’s voices had been acting up.

Technoblade’s voices had been acting up.

Nothing really new, when you put it that way. The Chat always acted strangely in some way shape or form. But this time, the voices were acting _really_ strange. Like _really_ strange.

For instance, Technoblade had just been minding his own business, collecting supplies, when the voices suddenly started screaming at him.

_AAH WHAT HAPPENED. **HOW DID WE GET HERE.** What’s going on_

Okay, so the voices were having an existential crisis. Strange, but Techno wasn’t going to worry about it too much. He continued minding his own business, stocking up weapons, potions, enchanted books, and gapples.

When Technoblade returned to Pogtopia, the voices started acting up again, much to Technoblade’s annoyance.

_POGTOPIA??? **WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE??** TIMETRAVELBLADE. technotravel_

“Chat, I did not time travel,” Techno said exhaustedly, “I don’t know what gave you that idea, but please calm yourselves.”

The voices started obnoxiously whispering at the top of their lungs. _HE DOESN’T KNOW. PANIC_

Technoblade decided to continue ignoring them. The voices were delusional. Once again, it was strange, but he wasn’t in the mood to question it.

Then, Wilbur approached Technoblade, looking a little ticked at something. Technoblade was weighing his options on whether or not he should ask his half-insane brother what was wrong, but his chat seemed to have other ideas.

_ALIVEBUR!? **SPARKY-SPARKY BOOM MAN!** Traitor, he made a new government. **AND THEN EXPLODED THE ENTIRE COUNTRY.** WHERE’S TOMMY???_

Techno now had no idea what the Chat was going on about, and he couldn’t actually afford to speak to them out loud. He tried to send them an internal message to shut up while Wilbur told him about taking Tommy’s communicator away.

The Chat ignored him. Techno wondered why he expected anything less.

_TYRANNICAL!! **PROTECT THE CHILD!** LEAVE THE USELESS CHILD TO ROT._

“You took Tommy’s communicator away?” Techno asked, trying to think through the excessive shouting, “Isn’t that some sort of violation?”

Wilbur pulled the device out for a moment before shoving it back into his pocket. “It’s for his own good, Technoblade,” Wilbur said darkly, “Tommy hasn’t realized that trust could get him killed. Besides—” Wilbur flashed Techno a grin. “—this way he can’t betray me.”

_BLASPHEMY! **Fair enough.**_

You know, Techno would be having an easier time of keeping his thoughts together if his voices would agree on something for a change.

“Wilbur, Tommy thinks the world of you,” Techno said slowly, “I don’t think he could betray you if he tried.”

“That’s what they all think, Technoblade!” Wilbur let out a crazed laugh and ran his fingers through his messy hair. “But they all end up betraying me anyway!” Wilbur took a deep breath. “I love Tommy, and he loves me,” he muttered, almost as if he were reassuring himself, “He wouldn’t betray me intentionally. This is just a precaution.”

“Uh-huh,” Technoblade said slowly, “Keep telling yourself that.”

Wilbur scowled. “Dream’s coming over tomorrow,” he told Techno, “Make sure Tommy doesn’t interfere too much.”

_OH, DREAM, JUST FANTASTIC. **HAHA, WE DON’T OWE HIM ANY FAVORS THIS TIME.**_

Technoblade just headed toward Tommy’s room.

When Tommy gave him permission to come in, the voices went ballistic.

_RACOONINNIT. **THESEUS**! GIVE THAT BOY SOME GAPPLES. **WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS WRIST.**_

Techno had no idea why the Chat kept comparing Tommy to a racoon. Or to an ancient Greek hero. Admittedly, both Tommy and Theseus had been exiled, but it was still a random thing for the Chat to think.

Just to spite the voices, Techno gave Tommy a potion instead of a gapple. Half of the Chat was deeply amused by this; the other half took it as a personal affront.

His chat started to get violent, however, when Tommy brought up Wilbur’s behavior.

“This isn’t the first time he’s hurt me.”

**_HOW DARE HE._ ** _NO WONDER HE FLINCHES SO MUCH. **WAIT I THOUGHT THAT WAS JUST DREAM.** AAAAAA THIS RUNS DEEPER THAN WE THOUGHT. **BLOOD.** Blood, blood, blood._

As usual, Techno pushed the voices aside. He was feeling plenty livid without the Chat calling for blood. Wilbur was his brother; Techno wouldn’t try to kill him.

_THERE WAS NOTHING STOPPING YOU FROM TRYING BEFORE_

Techno wished he had any idea what the voices were talking about.

Tommy forced himself to stay calm.

Dream wasn’t going to kill him. Dream was barely going to look at him. From what Tommy could remember from most of Dream’s visits, Dream was mostly focused on encouraging Wilbur’s violent tendencies. Tommy only ever got the attention directed toward him when he spoke up.

The current plan was to just keep his mouth shut. Should be easy enough. Tommy doesn’t bother Dream. Dream doesn’t bother him. Everybody is happy and none the wiser.

At first, the plan went off without a hitch. Technoblade eventually left the room, muttering something about a headache. Tommy bet it was those voices that future Technoblade had mentioned. Tommy wondered if they hated Dream as much as Tommy did.

Dream handed Wilbur some supplies while Tommy watched the proceedings carefully. He tried not to flinch when he saw Dream pull out another stack of TNT from his inventory. He forced his fingers to stay away from his armor straps.

_“Put your armor in the hole, Tommy.”_

This wasn’t exile. This wasn’t Logstedshire. Dream wasn’t going to hurt him; Wilbur wouldn’t allow it.

“Tommy’s been awfully quiet today,” Dream said to Wilbur casually.

Tommy felt his heart speed up like a mine-cart gaining momentum, but he forced himself to not panic. This was a different Dream. This wasn’t his Dream. Everything was fine.

“He has, hasn’t he?” Wilbur said, smiling pleasantly at Tommy, “Thank you for finally behaving yourself, Tommy.”

Simultaneously, warmth bloomed in his chest as Tommy fought away a grimace. He hated that he still wanted praise from his insane brother. He hated that he was so confused.

Dream turned to Tommy and tilted his head slightly, and Tommy forced himself to stare straight at the eyes on Dream’s mask. He had nothing to fear. Dream couldn’t hurt him here. Don’t show weakness.

“Maybe when this is all said and done, Tommy won’t get exiled again,” Dream said calmly.

Tommy’s blood froze, and he felt clamminess start to overcome him. To Wilbur, that might seem like a casual statement, a casual ‘let’s hope this never happens again.’

To Tommy, it was _so much_ more.

“I should hope not,” Wilbur said, “Since there won’t be any Manberg to be exiled from, and I would _never_ exile Tommy from Pogtopia.”

Dream was still looking at Tommy, and Tommy clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He needed to stay calm. He needed to act like nothing was different. It was just an offhand comment. It was just an offhand comment. This wasn’t the same Dream.

“I’m going to go see where Techno went off to,” Tommy muttered. He slowly backed away, unwilling to keep Dream out of his sight.

Dream smiled. “Why don’t you stay?” he asked, “I thought you wanted to keep an eye on me?”

Tommy hated the way his body seized up, how he wanted go back, because _Dream was his friend, he was his friend, he was the only one who cared._

And then there was Wilbur, staring at Tommy with a perplexed expression, and Tommy hated how he wanted to never leave his side, because _Wilbur was his brother, he was his brother, and he was the only one he could trust._

God, this was so screwed up. For a terrifying moment, Tommy thought he was going to laugh over how screwed up it was.

 _C’mon Tommy,_ Tommy told himself, remembering what Techno had told him, _He doesn’t have a home. He’s homeless. Just think about Dream in a cardboard box._

Tommy managed to summon a weak smile. “You’re homeless, you don’t get to tell me what to do. I want to speak to Techno.”

Tommy spun around and speed-walked down the hallway carved into the ravine. He forced himself not to break into a dead run when he heard Wilbur’s hysterical laughter echo off of the walls.

When he heard Dream’s laughter join Wilbur’s, Tommy sprinted.

“Holy crap,” Quackity said, sticking another stack of TNT into his inventory, “This is a ton of TNT.”

Tubbo only nodded as he carefully extracted another block.

“Where did all of it come from?” Quackity continued, sounding almost hysterical, “Where did it all come from?”

“Wilbur,” Tubbo said noncommittally.

Quackity laughed. “Why would _Wilbur_ want to destroy the entire country? Didn’t he want to rule the place?”

“Not if he’s gone absolutely insane.” Tubbo shoved a block of TNT into his inventory more forcefully than usual. “Which might not have happened if Schlatt hadn’t _exiled_ him.”

Quackity frowned. “Careful Tubbo,” he said, “Those are some pretty treasonous things you’re saying there.”

Tubbo clenched his fists tightly, digging his nails into his palms. “I’m sure Schlatt would agree with me, since he’s allowing Tommy back into L’man-Manberg and all.”

Quackity’s eyes widened. “What? He’s letting Tommy back?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Tubbo asked sharply, “This is Tommy’s home. Keeping him out only causes problems for everybody.”

_Logstedshire blown to pieces. A giant pole towering over Tubbo. Tommy back, alive, teamed up with Technoblade, screaming profanities at someone he used to call his best friend._

Quackity raised his arms in surrender. “No! I’m glad Tommy’s coming back, honest. I just want to know the whole picture. Is Wilbur coming too?”

Tubbo scoffed, trying not to think about Wilbur’s insanity that bordered on cruelty in Pogtopia. “Of course not. Didn’t I just say he planted all that TNT?”

Quackity’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t just heard that from Tubbo minutes before. “Yeah, but… I thought Wilbur would rather die than see Manberg destroyed.”

Tubbo rubbed his eyes tiredly, a habit he picked up from the stress of being president. “Well, in his words, if he can’t have it, nobody can.”

Quackity let out another shocked laugh. “That’s—that’s so screwed man. What if we hadn’t found the explosives?”

“What do you think?” Tubbo asked, trying not to think about the gut-wrenching panic he felt as they world crumpled underneath him, how Phil put a sword through Wilbur, how Tommy screamed like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

Quackity didn’t have an answer. They continued digging up the TNT in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: i should work on my other WIPs  
> Also Me: Nah
> 
> Someone in the comments had the idea about the voices, but I'm too tired to figure out who at the moment. (Okay, future Molly here, [ ProcrastinatorQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatorQueen/pseuds/ProcrastinatorQueen) was the one to suggest the voices from the future.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt saw a lot of things as a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: explicit mentions of manipulation and abuse, suicidal thoughts (all canon stuff mostly)

When Schlatt woke up as a ghost, he felt more refreshed than he had in ages.

It probably helped that his brain wasn't half fogged up by constant drinking or the pounding headache that would follow him every time he woke up. It also probably helped that he couldn’t feel anything at all.

It was strange, but also strangely nice.

Nobody could see him, and Schlatt was fine with that. Why should he reveal himself to that merry band of traitors? They had desecrated his grave shamelessly; he didn’t want anything to do with them.

Even he didn’t understand why he still followed them around, watching their every move. If you had asked him at the time, he would’ve probably insisted that he looked forward to seeing them destroy themselves.

Seeing his enemies destroy themselves wasn’t nearly as entertaining as Schlatt had expected it to be.

Wilbur was already dead; Schlatt hadn’t returned as a ghost before that particular death. Still, Schlatt got to see Wilbur’s amnesiac ghost, floating around like a happy six-year-old.

Meanwhile, the actual kids had been tasked with running the country.

When Schlatt had first realized that Tubbo was chosen to be president, he actually laughed out loud, not that anyone could hear him. Who in their right minds would chose _Tubbo_ to be president? Sure, he was well-meaning enough, but the fact remained that Tubbo was a doormat, not to mention a literal child.

Who trusted their nation to be in the hands of a child who couldn’t say no to anyone?

Then Schlatt realized that it was Wilbur who chose Tubbo, right after he choose _Tommy,_ who actually found the maturity to reject the role. After that, the joke seemed a little less funny. Schlatt didn’t understand why. It should’ve been _hilarious._ Maybe everyone’s stupidity was so ridiculous it simply _couldn’t_ be funny.

Schlatt _did_ laugh when Tommy and Ranboo robbed and burned George’s house as a bonding exercise.

Schlatt stopped laughing when Dream started building obsidian walls around the country. Schlatt shouldn’t even care anymore, but _he_ was the one to take down _Wilbur’s_ stupid walls, and Dream had no right to make new ones.

At first, the idea of Tommy being exiled again was mildly hilarious, almost like the universe was actively working against the kid.

The hilarity faded when Tommy told Tubbo not to be the next Schlatt, and Tubbo balked before telling Tommy not to be the next Wilbur. And suddenly, Schlatt actually had to wonder how much he hurt this kid.

Who was he kidding, he publicly executed Tubbo. What was Schlatt even thinking, having a teenager killed like that?

The traitor excuse was falling flatter and flatter each time Schlatt thought about it.

Quackity became the new vice president, but Schlatt knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with that role. Quackity wouldn’t be satisfied until he had complete control. He and Schlatt were similar in that regard.

Little did Tubbo know, Quackity may as well have gained that control when he stepped up as Tubbo’s second-in-command. Quackity was more forceful than Tubbo ever could be, and it showed.

Meanwhile, exile hadn’t been treating Tommy well.

Poor, amnesiac Ghostbur had tried to make the situation as accommodating as possible, but it definitely didn’t help when Ghostbur couldn’t even remember that Tommy wasn’t on vacation.

Dream certainly did not improve matters.

Schlatt was very familiar in the ways one could exercise control over someone else, probably because Schlatt used to be the controller.

Tubbo was laughably easy to control. The kid was so afraid to say no, all that was really necessary to get him to say yes was to make any show of force. Of course, if you showed too much force, you could turn the kid against you.

That was Schlatt’s particular downfall.

People like Quackity had the perfect balance to wear down people like Tubbo. He would forcefully project his ideals and his ideas until Tubbo saw them as his own, or simply didn’t want to refuse.

That sort of method didn’t work on people like Tommy. Tommy was too willful, too full of fire. Harsh words didn’t put him down, as a matter of fact, they only tended to rile him up more.

The best, and possibly only, way to control Tommy was to earn his loyalty.

Schlatt wasn’t stupid. He could connect the dots. It was obvious that Wilbur had manipulated and abused Tommy. But Wilbur had already gained Tommy’s loyalty, manipulating him from there couldn’t have been very hard.

Dream, on the other hand, had to start from scratch, worse than scratch really. Tommy saw Dream as the enemy, and rightfully so.

In life, Schlatt might have admired the twistedly elegant way that Dream broke Tommy down until the teen was a shadow of his former self.

As a ghost, Schlatt wanted nothing more than to punch Dream in the face. And he tried. Sadly, it seemed that being completely undetected by the living was not Schlatt’s choice, but his curse.

Schlatt wondered how he started getting so protective of the kids he would’ve gladly killed only a month ago.

Things only got worse when Dream discovered Tommy’s secret stash, and Schlatt could only watch as Logstedshire was completely destroyed, leaving Tommy even more broken and alone than before.

Schlatt could only yell truths at Tommy soundlessly as Tommy stood on top of that tower, ready for his final rebellion.

And maybe miracles did exist after all, because just when Schlatt thought Tommy was going to actually jump, Tommy suddenly realized what Dream had been doing to him all along. Still, Schlatt let out a metaphorical sigh of relief only _after_ Tommy was safely situated under Techno’s house like a racoon.

Meanwhile, Tubbo, Quacktiy, Fundy, and Ranboo set out on a quest to kill Technoblade. They put Philza under house arrest in the process, and Schlatt couldn’t help but to feel bad for the man who was only ever trying to protect his son.

The more vindictive side of Schlatt thought it served him right for only visiting Tommy _once_ while in exile.

Schlatt couldn’t bring himself to be surprised when Technoblade didn’t actually get killed. He was a little relieved, actually. Tubbo was too young to have that sort of blood on his hands.

Schlatt _could_ bring himself to be surprised when Technoblade showed Tommy his room full of wither skulls. Because, _dang,_ that was a lot of future withers.

Tommy and Tubbo’s reunion was painful to watch. That’s all Schlatt really had to say on the subject.

Tommy’s confrontation of Dream was simultaneously the most frightening and the most satisfying thing Schlatt had ever seen.

Still, Schlatt was _this_ close to stabbing Technoblade when he brought up the favor.

And suddenly, Schlatt woke up with a pounding headache and severe nausea. He stumbled out of bed, looked at the date, and it wasn’t exactly hard to connect the dots from there.

Of course, he had time traveled. He needed a drink.

He found Tubbo in a kitchen full of empty glass bottles and shattered glass all over the floor. Schlatt had no memory of this happening in the past, but maybe it had been drowned out in extra booze.

Well, there was no time like the present to get sober, he supposed.

Now, Schlatt was very good at powering through hangover, so he actually managed to get through his conversation with Tubbo with relative ease.

Things made a lot more sense when Schlatt realized Tubbo was also a time traveler, but it had to make him wonder. Was it just him and Tubbo? Or were there more people from the future that had suddenly found themselves in the past?

It didn’t matter. Right now, Schlatt needed to focus on getting Tommy away from Wilbur. The others were digging up the actual TNT. Schlatt would get Tommy out, kick Wilbur and Dream's butts, and get both Tommy and Tubbo therapy. Easy. 

Schlatt snorted. Yeah, if everything were that easy, Schlatt probably wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that closes the adventures of Schlatt as a ghost. We shall return to Tommy in the next chapter, as well as explore some of the lovely symptoms of withdraw. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This hadn’t happened last time. This had most definitely not happened last time. Tubbo had not betrayed him for Schlatt last time.
> 
> “Don’t you see, Tommy?” Wilbur asked, plucking Tommy’s communicator out of his hands, “Tubbo doesn’t care about you.”

Tommy wasn’t all that surprised when he couldn’t find Techno. Technoblade was never one for staying put in Pogtopia. More likely than not, he was busy in his secret base.

Tommy _would’ve_ gone to the secret base, really. He was sure Techno had plenty of gapples hidden in there, and after his interaction with Dream, Tommy could _really_ use some gapples. But he couldn’t remember exactly where the base was, and even if he did, the idea of accidently running into Dream on his way out was too much for Tommy to bear.

So instead, Tommy pulled out a pickaxe and began digging. He wasn’t sure where he was going, as a matter of fact, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going anywhere. He just needed a distraction. He needed something to pull his mind away from Dream, and Wilbur, and the god-forsaken mess he was in.

Unfortunately, the monotony of his actions only seemed to make his thoughts louder.

 _Dream laughed at the homeless joke, had he heard it before?_ No, Dream just thought it was funny. _He didn’t think it was funny when Techno said it._ Well, maybe Dream had a better sense of humor before he exiled Tommy. _Dream mentioned Tommy being exiled again._ Dream was just saying things. He wasn’t referencing Tommy’s actual exile.

Tommy willed himself to breathe as he forced his pickaxe to break through the stone. _Dream wasn’t here. He couldn’t hurt him._

Tommy whispered the words like a mantra as he continued to mine. “Dream isn’t here. He can’t hurt me.”

He swung again, and his pickaxe broke. Tommy’s heart skipped a beat as he let out a surprised yelp.

“Jumping at shadows?”

Tommy jumped and spun around. Wilbur stood at the entrance of Tommy’s man-made cave, surveying the scene in front of him.

Tommy felt his panic tie a rope around his lungs as he struggled to breathe. _Wilbur was here. He_ could _hurt him._

Don’t be ridiculous. Wilbur was his brother. Tommy should be grateful that he was even alive. Tommy should be glad that he wasn’t Ghostbur, who couldn’t remember anything sad for more than a few minutes. Tommy should be grateful, so why did he feel so afraid?

“Tommy?” Wilbur asked, sounding worried.

_Dream would sound worried too._

Tommy tried to speak. “I-I—”

He couldn’t think; it was like smoke had suffocated his thoughts. For a moment, Tommy thought he saw Dream standing over him. But no, it was Wilbur. Was that any better?

Wilbur grabbed him by the arms, and Tommy immediately jerked away. Wilbur didn’t let go, instead holding on all the more tightly. It hurt.

“ _Tommy.”_ Wilbur’s voice was stern, and Tommy’s body seized up. His breathing didn’t slow. _Tommy screwed up, and now he was going to hurt him, and Tommy would deserve it, because he’s so pathetic and useless and—_

“Tommy, pull yourself together or _so help me,”_ Wilbur said, his voice sharper this time.

Tommy stopped breathing altogether.

Wilbur smiled. “Good,” he said. His face returned to a stern expression. “Now breathe.”

Tommy let out a shuddering breath, staring at the dirty stone floor of the cave. He didn’t want to see Wilbur’s face, didn’t want to watch it shift from joy to anger at a drop of a hat.

Wilbur slowly released his iron grip on Tommy’s arms and slowly began to card his fingers through Tommy’s hair. Tommy melted into the touch.

“Oh Toms,” Wilbur whispered softly.

Wilbur grabbed Tommy by the chin and yanked his head up. A jolt went down Tommy’s spine at the motion, but he forced himself not to tremble, looking straight into Wilbur’s crazed, but soft, brown eyes. This was his brother. Wilbur might hurt him, but Tommy shouldn’t be afraid of him.

“Dream really scared you, didn’t he?” Wilbur’s voice was condescending, like he was speaking to a five-year-old. Tommy hated it.

“I wasn’t scared,” Tommy said stubbornly.

They both knew he was lying.

“Okay,” Wilbur said gently, “Dream’s gone now. Why don’t you give me all of those materials you’ve collected? Then, you can take the rest of the day off.”

Tommy obediently handed all of his ore to Wilbur, and he had to resist the impulse to add his armor to the pile of stuff. Wilbur wasn’t Dream. Wilbur didn’t want to destroy Tommy’s armor. Wilbur just wanted the materials for the upcoming war.

Wilbur smiled and led Tommy back toward the main ravine. Tommy jerked forward when Wilbur stopped suddenly, grabbing Tommy tightly by the shoulder.

“And Tommy?” Wilbur was smiling that insane smile of his, and Tommy felt a sudden stab of fear in his chest. “I have proof that we can’t trust Tubbo.”

“What?” Tommy’s shaky voice was hardly louder than a whisper. He hated how pathetic he sounded. Tommy forced himself to speak more boldly. “Wilbur, Tubbo is my friend!”

“Then what do you make of this?” Wilbur shoved Tommy’s communicator into his hands. Tommy fumbled with it for a moment, peering down at the messages on the screen.

_Tubbo: Schlatt’s trying his best, I think things are going to change for the better around here._

_Tubbo: I’m sorry._

Tommy stared at the messages, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “What the hell?” he whispered.

This hadn’t happened last time. This had most definitely not happened last time. Tubbo had not betrayed him for _Schlatt_ last time.

“Don’t you see, Tommy?” Wilbur asked, plucking Tommy’s communicator out of his hands, “Tubbo doesn’t care about you.”

“But-but—” Tommy muttered, trying to think past the shock. “I don’t understand.”

Why would Tubbo do this? Why on earth would Tubbo side with Schlatt? Schlatt had never treated Tubbo kindly; Tubbo shouldn’t want anything to do with him. What had changed?

Had Tommy been launched into an alternate dimension? One where Tubbo was a traitor and Technoblade suddenly cared about how Wilbur was treating Tommy? An alternate dimension where Dream acted slightly more creepily than usual?

Or was Tommy not the only one who time traveled? That still wouldn’t explain why Tubbo betrayed him, unless Tubbo really was the monster that Technoblade made him out to be.

“He’s betrayed us,” Wilbur said, laughter bubbling from his lips, “Plain and simple. You can’t trust anyone Tommy. I’m the only one you can trust.”

Tommy wanted to get away, but Wilbur still hadn’t let go of his shoulder. He was stuck. Stuck in Pogtopia. Stuck with Wilbur. Stuck in the past, or whatever it was.

Tommy knew what Wilbur was waiting for him to say, so Tommy forced the damned words out of his mouth. “You’re the only one I can trust.”

He hated this, he hated this, he hated this. He hated how Wilbur smiled slightly victoriously at the words, how he raised a single eyebrow and said, “And?”

Tommy scrambled to think of what else Wilbur would want him to say, and chose the safest option.

“I can’t trust Tubbo.”

Wilbur let go of Tommy’s shoulder. “I tried to warn you,” he said, sounding sincere, unlike Dream.

“I know,” Tommy said shortly, walking briskly toward his room. He shut the door loudly behind him, and tried not to notice the way his eyes burned.

He hated this place.

Tubbo’s second day in the past was fairly uneventful. But then again, Tubbo’s definition of eventful involved explosions of some kind, so uneventful was actually a rather good thing.

The day started with Schlatt promptly telling basically everyone to take the day off, and everyone else to stay away from his office.

“Don’t worry about me,” he told them when both Tubbo and Quackity expressed their alarm, “I’m just feeling a little under the weather, and you two deserve a day off after all that TNT digging you did yesterday.”

Tubbo couldn’t exactly argue with that one. His arms _were_ pretty sore from all that work, but it was worth it. At least Tubbo could sleep soundly in his bed knowing that there was no TNT underneath the ground for the time being.

And Schlatt _did_ look sick. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his arms couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

Tubbo was tempted to just take the day to go straight to Pogtopia and drag Tommy out, but it was clear that Schlatt had already accounted for that.

“You’re staying in Manberg,” Schlatt told Tubbo, “I don’t want you going on any rescue missions.”

“What makes you think I would do that?” Tubbo asked, trying to sound confused.

Schlatt laughed. “Just spend some time with Niki or something. I promise, I’ll get Tommy as soon as possible, but I don’t want you to put yourself in arms reach of that maniac.”

They both knew he was talking about Wilbur.

After Fundy stopped him from sneaking off, Tubbo very reluctantly decided to listen to Schlatt and stay in Manberg.

The Niki idea wasn’t half bad, actually, so Tubbo headed straight to her shop. It was strange, walking through Manberg. He was used to the bridges of the reconstructed L’manberg, and now he was walking on normal paths.

When Tubbo reached Niki’s bakery, he practically salivated at the delicious smell of baked goods. His stomach growled in hunger, and Tubbo realized that he had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning.

Tubbo was used to skipping meals; it was an occupational hazard of being president of an entire nation. Still, he knew he shouldn’t make a habit of it, especially now that he was only Secretary of State.

Better late than never, he supposed as he pushed open the door.

When the cute little bell chimed upon Tubbo’s entry, Niki looked up from the counter and smiled gently.

“Hey Tubbo!” she said brightly.

Tubbo waved back, smiling tiredly in return. “Hello, Niki,” he replied, “How are you?”

“I’m doing well, thank you!” Niki played with a bit of her hair. “J’schlatt apologized to me the other day and lowered my taxes, so that was a pleasant surprise. I’m still not sure how I feel about him, but it’s good to see that he knows what he did was wrong.”

“Yeah,” Tubbo said, not sure what else to say.

He spent most of the day with Niki, but the idea of Tommy trapped with Wilbur in Pogtopia didn’t leave his mind. Eventually, he pulled out his communicator. Why didn’t he think of this sooner? It feels like the obvious move now.

_Tubbo: Hey, Tommy how are you doing?_

_Tubbo: I have some really good news. J’schlatt is going to revoke your exile! You can come back and stay!_

_Tubbo: This probably seems sudden, haha_

_Tubbo: Schlatt’s trying his best, I think things are going to change for the better around here._

An hour passed, and Tommy still didn’t reply. Anxiety churned in Tubbo’s gut, and he quickly began typing again.

_Tubbo: …Tommy? Are you alright?_

_Tubbo: Did I say something to upset you?_

_Tubbo: I’m sorry._

_Tubbo: Tommy, please answer I’m getting worried._

Tubbo was safely back at home when he finally got a reply. Tubbo’s heart raced as he read it.

_TommyInnit: Screw you, you damn traitor._

Tubbo’s heart dropped. Didn’t Tommy read the part about being allowed back into Manberg? Did he simply not care? Had Wilbur already corrupted him?

_Tubbo: I’m not a traitor. Schlatt’s changed, I swear. He’s not the same man as before._

No reply.

Tubbo scowled. There was no way Tommy would say that. Sure, the Tommy from his time had said some pretty hurtful things to Tubbo, but Tubbo hadn’t exiled him in this timeline. Tubbo had literally just told him Tommy could come home from exile.

Tubbo knew that Wilbur had to be behind this somehow. Maybe Tommy was the one who typed those words, but Wilbur had to be the one whispering them in Tommy’s ear.

Right?

Regardless, Tubbo couldn’t allow Tommy to spend another moment with Wilbur, not while he was like this.

Schlatt had wanted him to stay in Manberg, but Tubbo _needed_ to do this. Fundy might’ve stopped him from going to Tommy before, but that was in broad daylight. Night was fast approaching, and Tubbo could use that as a cover to get to Pogtopia without anyone noticing. He could grab Tommy, explain the misunderstanding, and get home before morning.

Tubbo wouldn’t fail Tommy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter evolved in ways that I did not foresee while simultaneously staying within the confines of my outline. Good job chapter. 
> 
> I can no longer make promises about who's point of view I will manage to get to in the next chapter, so...probably Tommy or Tubbo, maybe Schlatt. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It stung to see Tommy so desperate to get away from him, but Tubbo pushed through the lump in his throat.
> 
> “I’m not a traitor,” he said.
> 
> Tommy scoffed. “Nice try, Tubbo, but if you wanted to pull that card, maybe you shouldn’t have sent me messages all but confessing that you’re moving to Schlatt’s side.”

Tubbos’ footsteps were quiet on the grass as he quickly ran away from Manberg. He could hear the familiar sound of mobs surrounding him, and he clutched onto his sword for comfort.

He could’ve attempted to take his underground tunnel into Pogtopia, but Tubbo had a feeling that either Schlatt or Wilbur had sealed it off at this point. Schlatt because he didn’t want Tubbo to put himself in danger. Wilbur because he and Tommy thought Tubbo was a traitor.

The reminder of the misunderstanding only made Tubbo run through the forest faster. The cold, night air burned at Tubbo’s lungs, but he didn’t care. He needed to get to Tommy.

_I’m coming Tommy._

The further away he got from Manberg, the louder Tubbo allowed himself to become. His feet crashed into the ground. His haste caused him to stumble, but Tubbo refused to slow down. When a skeleton stepped into his path, Tubbo weaved around it and ran past the mob.

The closer he got to Pogtopia, the more his mind raced through the possibilities.

_What if Tommy refused to come? What if Wilbur stopped him? What if Technoblade was there?_

Tubbo almost skidded to a halt when he thought about Technoblade. _What if Technoblade was there?_

As he forced himself to keep moving, Tubbo’s heart seemed to be screaming as it beat faster and faster. Technoblade wouldn’t be there. Technoblade was almost never there. And even if Techno was there, Tubbo would just sneak past him. No harm, no foul. Nothing would happen.

Tubbo skidded to a halt when he recognized the hidden entrance to Pogtopia. Very carefully and quietly, Tubbo dug away the dirt covering the entrance. He peeked inside. Nobody was there.

Repressing a sigh of relief (it would’ve been too loud), Tubbo lightly stepped into the entrance room. He winced when his sneakers made a light sound on the stone. Every sound felt ten times louder than usual.

Tubbo took off his sneakers and stuck them into his inventory. His feet were frostier now that his socks were the only thing protecting him from the cold stone, but at least he didn’t make a noise every time he took a step forward.

Tubbo slowly crept down the stairs, glad that they were stone. If they were wooden, they might’ve made a rather incriminating creaking sound. With stone, everything was deathly silent, with the exception of Tubbo’s breathing.

Tubbo wondered if there were a way to quiet his breathing. He experimented with taking deeper and shallower breaths, and decided that natural breathing was the quietest.

Too bad Tubbo’s stress of being caught was making natural breathing quite difficult.

As Tubbo approached the bottom of the stairs, he could hear Wilbur’s crazed voice echoing from farther down the ravine. He froze. Then, he realized that he was too exposed on the stairs, and he hurried down as quietly as he could manage.

Technoblade’s voice joined the echoes, and it took everything Tubbo had not to turn around and run in the opposite direction. Where was the confidence he had when he came knocking on Technoblade’s door for execution?

He had more power then. He had friends at his back. Now, Tubbo was terribly alone.

The voices grew louder as Tubbo scurried toward the hallway that lead to Tommy’s room. Tubbo vaguely wondered if Wilbur and Techno were arguing about something.

Good. Arguing was good. Arguing meant that they wouldn’t notice Tubbo sneak Tommy out of Pogtopia. Hopefully.

Techno’s voice raised volume, and Tubbo could hear _“hurting” “insane”_ echo off the walls.

Wilbur’s voice raised into an incomprehensible shriek, and Tubbo felt his heart practically leap out of his body. He broke into a reckless sprint. He needed to get to Tommy. Tommy wasn’t safe. _He_ _needed—_

Tubbo froze when a door a few yards ahead slammed open. Suddenly, he could hear Technoblade’s voice very clearly.

“I’m not betraying you, Wilbur. I’m still with you. I’m just being honest.”

Tubbo was a statue as Technoblade stepped into the hallway, slamming the door closed behind him and muffling the expletives that Wilbur started firing off.

Technoblade hadn’t noticed Tubbo yet. Instead, he was staring down the opposite direction of the hallway, toward Tommy’s room. Tubbo could still hide, but he couldn’t make himself move.

“Chat, I think I need to give him some space.” Technoblade spun around. “Oh, don’t give me—”

Tubbo’s blood froze as Technoblade’s eyes landed on Tubbo.

_Run, run, run, run, run, run. “I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.” So many colors, they burn, they burn, they burn._

Technoblade took a couple of steps toward Tubbo, but Tubbo’s feet were glued to the floor. He was trapped. Walls held him from all sides. He couldn’t move. He _couldn’t_ _move._

“Tubbo? What are you—”

 _Move, run, move, run, run, move, move, move—_ Tubbo’s feet pushed off the ground, and he sprinted toward Technoblade. _He was so close to Tommy, if he could run past—_

Technoblade swiftly stepped out of the way and grabbed Tubbo by the arms. Tubbo didn’t dare scream; Wilbur still didn’t know he was here, and he wanted to keep it that way. Still, that didn’t stop him from squirming, kicking, punching himself out of Technoblade’s grasp.

Technoblade’s hold didn’t loosen, and the adrenaline slowly drained out of Tubbo’s body. Hopelessness seeped into his bones. This was the end. Now Techno would get Wilbur, and they would probably kill him, and then Tommy would be trapped in Pogtopia forever.

Tubbo _failed._

He flinched when Technoblade leveled him with a serious expression.

“What’s going on?” Techno asked, “Wilbur said you’re a traitor. What are you doing here?”

The air was almost gone from Tubbo’s lungs, and when he forced the words out, they sounded more like the faint whisper of a dying man. “I’m not a traitor. I want to see Tommy. To explain.”

He didn’t look Technoblade in the eyes, didn’t want to see if Techno’s voices were raging inside his head, demanding Tubbo’s blood, demanding that Tubbo go off with a bang. Instead, he stared at the ground, stared at his dirty, white socks, stared at Technoblade’s nice but worn boots.

Technoblade let out a sigh. “Explain to me, and I’ll decide if you can go see Tommy.”

That made sense. If Tubbo were a traitor, allowing him to see Tommy was a good way to get Tommy killed.

“Schlatt’s changed. He’s different. He’s not the same.”

Tubbo’s words came out in a rush, but they never changed volume, as if Tubbo’s vocal chords new the consequences of being heard by anyone other than Technoblade. In reality, Tubbo probably didn’t have the air to speak louder than a whisper.

“Those are all very synonymous,” Techno said dryly, “but continue.”

“He wants to let Tommy back into Manberg. He feels bad. He wants to take Tommy away from Wilbur. He knows Wilbur is too dangerous.” Tubbo was saying too much. Technoblade wouldn’t like him incriminating Wilbur like this, but he couldn’t get himself to stop. “He’s apologized to Niki, I think he’s stopped drinking, he dug up all of the TNT—”

_Stop speaking, stop speaking, Tubbo stop speaking._

Technoblade’s hands squeezed Tubbo’s arms more tightly. “How would he know about the TNT?”

Tubbo didn’t answer.

“ _Tubbo.”_

Tubbo flinched. “Please,” Tubbo whispered, “Please let me save Tommy. He’s not safe here, he’s being manipulated, he’s hurt, he—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Technoblade let go of Tubbo. Tubbo looked up at him in shock.

“What—?”

“You can go to Tommy,” Technoblade muttered, massaging his forehead.

Confusion pounded at Tubbo’s skull, demanding answers even as his instincts demanded that he flee. “But I thought—”

“Listen, I’m pretty annoyed about the TNT, not going to lie,” Technoblade said, “But I care about Tommy.” He grimaced and let out a hiss. “Just get out of here; I’m getting a headache.”

Needing no other prompt, Tubbo sprinted down the hall toward Tommy’s room before Technoblade changed his mind and decided to kill him.

He carelessly slammed the door open, and in the darkness of the bedroom, Tubbo saw Tommy’s form sit up suddenly.

“Tubbo?” Tommy whispered, “Are you really here?”

Tubbo stumbled forward, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes and throat. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me.”

When Tubbo got close enough, Tommy grabbed onto Tubbo’s shirt. Tubbo stiffened. Was Tommy mad? Did he need comfort?

“You feel real,” Tommy muttered, sounding slightly delirious.

Oh. _Oh._

Tubbo gently grabbed Tommy’s hand. “I am real,” he choked out, “I’m right here.”

Tommy squeezed Tubbo’s hand so tightly that it hurt, but Tubbo didn’t mind. Tommy was _here,_ and he was _alive,_ and now Tubbo could save him.

“But Dream said—”

Tubbo stiffened. What was this about Dream? Had Dream hurt Tommy in Pogtopia? Tommy had never told him about that. Maybe it was just a nightmare.

Tommy looked confused for a moment before he too stiffened. A startled noise escaped Tubbo as Tommy yanked his hand away from him like it burned.

“Damnit, damnit, _damnit,”_ Tommy muttered, shuffling away from Tubbo, “What are you doing here?”

It stung to see Tommy so desperate to get away from him, but Tubbo pushed through the lump in his throat.

“I’m not a traitor,” he said.

Tommy scoffed. “Nice try, Tubbo, but if you wanted to pull that card, maybe you shouldn’t have sent me messages all but confessing that you’re moving to Schlatt’s side.”

That stung. “What about Schlatt taking your exile away?” Tubbo asked, “Does that mean nothing to you?”

Tommy gave Tubbo a perplexed look. “What do you mean, take my exile away? Are you sure you haven’t hit your head or something? Schlatt was the one who exiled me, remember?”

Tubbo shook his head frantically, even as confusion threatened to overcome him. Hadn’t Tommy read his message? Had it not gone through?

“Schlatt’s revoking your exile,” Tubbo said quickly, reaching for his communicator, “I told you this.”

Tommy crossed his arms and shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

Tubbo frowned as he opened up his messages to Tommy. “Well, maybe I didn’t _tell_ you, but I sent you a message.” He handed the communicator to Tommy.

Tommy let out a snort as he glanced down at the messages. “Yeah, I think I would remember…” He froze. When he next spoke, his voice came out as a pained whisper. “What?”

“See?” Tubbo said, “I messaged you. Schlatt’s had a change of heart. Did you not see it? Maybe there’s something wrong—”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Tommy interrupted, sounding suddenly resigned as he stared at Tubbo’s communicator, “with the communicator, at least.”

Well, that provided no answers whatsoever.

“Well, what else could be the problem?”

“Wilbur has my communicator,” Tommy whispered, “He showed me only two of the messages, and well, it all seemed to point to you betraying us.”

The implications were deafening.

And for the first time that night, Tubbo’s fear was replaced with simmering anger. “He _took_ your communicator?”

Tommy flinched, and Tubbo forced himself to calm down.

“Does that mean… that message you sent?” Tubbo asked, hating himself for hoping that Wilbur had sent the message, hoping that Tommy didn’t hate him after all.

“I didn’t send it,” Tommy confirmed quietly, “I-it must’ve been Wilbur.”

Tubbo could hardly believe it. Wilbur _took_ Tommy’s communicator, _deleted_ messages, and then _posed_ as Tommy? Tubbo knew that Wilbur was insane, he _knew_ that, but this was to such an extreme that Tubbo couldn’t help but to be shocked.

“I should’ve known,” Tommy said, his voice getting an angry edge to it.

Tubbo felt panic begin to creep in. Because when Tommy was angry, he got _loud._

“Tommy—”

“No, Tubbo!” Tommy leapt out of bed, standing unsteadily on his feet. “I knew that he would try something like this, and I believed everything he said!”

“You couldn’t have known,” Tubbo said desperately, keeping his voice in a hushed whisper, “You couldn’t have known that he would try—”

“But I _did_ know!” Tommy shouted, his voice sounding ragged, “I did know that he was manipulating me! And I still fell for it!”

“Tommy, shut up!” Tubbo frantically glanced at the door. Wilbur hadn’t come knocking yet, which was a miracle, considering how loud Tommy was being.

Astoundingly enough, Tommy stopped talking altogether. As a matter of fact, he curled in on himself slightly and sat down on the creaking bed.

“I’m sorry,” Tubbo said, “But I don’t want to be caught.”

“You’re right,” Tommy whispered, “I’m too loud.”

Dread doused Tubbo like a bucket of ice water. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”

“It’s alright.” Tommy leaned back slightly and let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m just, I’m so _sick_ of being manipulated like I’m someone’s plaything.”

What did that mean? Obviously, Wilbur was manipulating Tommy, but the way Tommy said it, he was implying that someone else had manipulated him. Tubbo slowly sat down on the bed next to Tommy.

“What—”

The door suddenly opened with a loud bang. Tubbo and Tommy jumped at the sound. Tubbo twisted around and felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Wilbur was standing in the doorway, looking like rage incarnate.

Wilbur let out a creepy giggle, and Tubbo stiffened. He thinks Tommy might’ve too. “Well, well. Who do we have here?”

Before Tubbo could move, before he could say _anything,_ Wilbur had already grabbed Tubbo by the arm and _yanked_ him off the bed. Tubbo let out a startled cry that quickly turned into one of pain as Wilbur slammed him against the wall.

“Wilbur!” Tommy cried out, “Let him go!”

Wilbur silenced him with a glare before turning back to face Tubbo. “So, why has the little traitor decided to grace our presence? Here to spread lies to my baby brother?”

Tubbo tried not to quake under Wilbur’s glare. It was hard to believe that this man and Ghostbur were even remotely the same person. That’s probably why Ghostbur insisted against the concept.

“I’m not a traitor,” Tubbo insisted. It felt like a lie. Technically, he was betraying Wilbur. “I’m trying to help!”

Wilbur reached into his coat. Tubbo saw a flash of silver before feeling the surface of a blade against his neck.

“Wilbur!” Tommy shouted. He ran to Wilbur and grabbed him by the arm, but Wilbur shoved him away.

“Tommy, _shut up_ ,” Wilbur growled through gritted teeth.

For the second time that evening, Tommy hunched in on himself and became suddenly silent.

Fear choked at Tubbo while Wilbur twirled his knife around millimeters away from Tubbo’s throat.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Tubbo frantically searched for the words, frantically tried to think of something, but he came up short. What was he supposed to say? _I’m trying to protect Tommy from you._ Yeah, like that would go over well.

“I haven’t _done_ anything,” Tubbo finally pleaded, “Please, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Wilbur laughed, sending a shudder down Tubbo’s spine. “Do you hear him? ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong.’ That’s cute.”

“He hasn’t,” Tommy said, “He hasn’t done any—”

“Why won’t you listen to me, Tommy?” Wilbur snapped, “Why can’t I get it through that thick skull of yours? Tubbo is a _traitor._ You can’t trust anything he says.”

Tommy flinched back so violently that he actually took a couple of steps backward. The movement only sent another pang into Tubbo’s chest. What had Wilbur done to his best friend?

“I—” Tommy began weakly, but Wilbur cut him off again.

“Tommy, let me just deal with this traitor, and then we can have a cozy night. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

This time, Wilbur’s voice was sweet, welcoming. For probably the twentieth time that day, Tubbo felt confused. Why was Wilbur’s mood shifting so quickly? He had gone from yelling at Tommy to treating him lovingly. How did that even work?

Tubbo vaguely remembered seeing this behavior from Wilbur during the time he stayed in Pogtopia, but never to such a degree.

And he had most certainly _never_ seen Tommy look so broken over the words.

“Wilbs,” Tommy began. He grimaced before standing a little taller. “I can’t trust you either,” Tommy said loudly, like he was afraid he wouldn’t be heard, “You lied to me. You deleted the messages.”

Hot fury flashed across Wilbur’s face, and for a horrible moment, Tubbo thought he was going to take the knife and kill Tommy. Instead, his face melted into a smile.

“Oh, Toms,” Wilbur practically cooed, “You’re so naïve.”

Tommy looked like he had been hit.

Wilbur grabbed Tubbo by the collar of his shirt, and Tubbo tried (and failed) to resist as Wilbur dragged him closer to Tommy.

“Don’t you see?” Wilbur asked, the condescending nature of his tone returning its original mania, “It was a trick, a trap, a pretty little lie.”

Tubbo gasped as Wilbur dug the blade of the knife into his neck. The pain was agonizing, but Tubbo forced himself not to move a muscle.

Tommy also hadn’t moved an inch, and Tubbo wondered if he felt as terrified as Tubbo did.

“Tubbo was lying!” Wilbur continued, “Schlatt doesn’t want to revoke your exile! He wants to lure you in. He wants to let you think you’re safe, and once you’re in his clutches—”

Wilbur dug the knife in deeper, and Tubbo let out an actual cry. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, and Tubbo hated himself for showing such a pathetic display of weakness in front of Tommy.

Speaking of whom, Tommy had pressed his back against the wall, as if Wilbur was putting the knife to _his_ throat, and not Tubbo’s.

“—he’ll kill you!” Wilbur continued, his voice growing more and more hysterical by the minute, “Schlatt’ll torture you and give you a public execution, all just to get to me! He wants to see me suffer, so he’ll take advantage of your naiveté, of your innocence, to do it!”

That wasn’t true; Tubbo _knew_ it wasn’t true.

But a part of him would never forget going up on that stage, thinking the only thing he’d have to worry about was Wilbur blowing up the entire festival, and instead getting publicly executed with a blast of fireworks.

Tommy opened and closed his mouth, as if he were trying to form the words that refused to come.

“So now I’ll kill his precious Secretary of State,” Wilbur whispered close to Tubbo’s ear. Wilbur let out a burst of laughter and returned to normal volume. “Now, he’ll be the one that suffers when he hears what happened to the little traitor—”

“Please,” Tommy choked out. Tubbo noticed that tears were rolling down his face. Tubbo felt his own salty tears following suit. “Don’t kill him.”

“This isn’t your call, Tommy,” Wilbur said darkly, “I’m only doing this to protect you.”

Tubbo’s heart beat stubbornly, as if refusing the idea that death would come again. Panic was beginning to overwhelm Tubbo. _He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to die, this was his last life, please he didn’t want to die._

And then Tubbo remembered he had two lives left.

_He still didn’t want to die._

Tubbo kept his eyes on an anguished Tommy, wanting to be able to see his best friend in the last moments before he was plunged into the dark world of respawn.

“Wait.”

Tubbo’s heart froze at the sound of Technoblade’s voice, but he still didn’t dare move a muscle.

“What is it?” Wilbur snapped.

Techno’s voice sounded nonchalant when he next spoke, but Tubbo recognized the guarded quality behind the words. “It’ll have less impact if you do it now. Give Schlatt a rendezvous. Make Schlatt think he can save him, and then kill him right before he succeeds. That’ll hurt him a lot more then killing him now.”

Wilbur took the knife off of Tubbo’s throat. Tubbo let out a breath. Tommy sagged slightly.

“I like how you think,” Wilbur said. Tubbo didn’t have a view of his face, but Tubbo could imagine that terrifying grin. “Get some rope so I can tie him up.”

Soon enough, coarse rope dug uncomfortably into Tubbo’s wrists, and Wilbur had tied a gag around his mouth.

“I don’t want you whispering lies to Tommy,” Wilbur snarled, “but I don’t want you out of my sight, either, so this will have to do.”

After Wilbur was satisfied that Tubbo wasn’t going anywhere, he set Tubbo down in the corner of the bedroom and began checking up on Tommy.

Tommy was shaking, and tears were cascading down his cheeks. Tubbo wanted nothing more than to comfort his friend, but he couldn’t do anything in his present state. He could only watch as Wilbur stroked Tommy’s hair and pulled him into a hug.

“It’s okay,” Wilbur whispered, “Wilbur is going to keep you safe.”

Tommy’s expression was stricken, but it didn’t seem to stop him from melting into the embrace.

Tubbo felt sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the bright side, at least Tommy no longer thinks Tubbo is a traitor. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur’s glare was blazing.
> 
> “I don’t need help,” he snarled, “You know who does need help? Tommy. My little brother.” He smiled, staring past Techno like he was seeing another scene entirely. “He’s so small, Techno. He’s nothing like that brash boy from before. He woke up from a nightmare and he clung to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: decently descriptive depiction of alcohol withdraw (seizures, nausea, mentions of puking, etc), referenced child abuse, Wilbur's deteriorating mental health

Technoblade had a massive headache. Thanks a lot, Tubbo.

If he was being completely honest, it had probably started with his argument with Wilbur, but Tubbo certainly allowed the headache evolve into something much more aggravating.

Well, in all fairness, the voices were the ones who were creating the headache, but that was completely beside the point.

His argument with Wilbur had started calmly enough. Or, at least, as calmly as it could be when the Chat hadn’t stopped screaming about Dream all day.

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. **KILL THE HOMELESS TELETUBBY.** OH MY GOD WE LEFT HIM WITH TOMMY. **GO BACK TO TOMMY YOU UTTER FOOL.** BLOOD._

In hindsight, Dream was the real cause of Techno’s headache.

Deciding that he might as well check one of the Chat’s desires off the list, Technoblade gently knocked on Tommy’s bedroom door. Personally, he thought the voices were being a tad overprotective. Sure, Dream had hurt Tommy in the past, but he had been fine whenever Dream visited.

_YOU CALL THAT FINE???? **NOT ONE WORD OUT OF HIM THE ENTIRE TIME!!**_

Come to think of it, Chat made a good point. Tommy _had_ been a little quiet today. Well, actually, more like a _lot_ quiet.

Okay, something was definitely wrong, or _more_ wrong than usual. Techno cursed himself for not noticing sooner.

“Who is it?”

Tommy’s voice sounded ragged. Techno frowned. Had he been crying?

“It’s just me,” Technoblade said, “Can I come in?”

Technoblade could hear some shuffling and then footsteps, but they stopped abruptly. After a moment of silence, Tommy finally said,

“I’m… I’m not sure if I’m in the mood for talking right now.” Another beat of silence. “Maybe later, Big T?”

_HE NEEDS COMFORT. **WE SHOULD GIVE HIM SPACE.** LET’S GO KILL DREAM._

Technoblade clenched his fist. Voices aside, his own pressing concern for Tommy made him reluctant to leave him alone. However, if Tommy was explicitly asking for space, it would probably do more harm than good to force him to accept Techno’s company.

_HE HATES BEING ALONE. **LET’S GO KILL DREAM.** Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood_

“Alright,” Techno said, “I’m right here if you need me, alright?”

“…Okay.”

Techno sighed and spun around, heading back down the hall. Despite Chat’s innermost desires, Techno had no intentions of seeking out and killing Dream. He _did,_ however, want to pick Wilbur’s brain over what was bothering Tommy so much. Maybe there was a part of the story that he was missing.

_EXILE. **LOGSTEDSHIRE.** SO MANY EXPLOSIONS. **RACOOONINNIT**_

As always, Chat was entirely unhelpful. What the heck was a Logstedshire?

_IT’S A PLACE, IDIOT._

“Chat, I’ve studied the maps,” Techno said in exhaustion, making his way to the kitchen. Maybe some coffee would shut them up. “I have no memory of a place called Logstedshire.”

_IT DOESN’T EXIST YET. **AND THEN IT GOES BOOM.** LET’S KILL A GREEN JERK. **Blood, blood, blood**_

Techno had long since decided that the Chat was delusional. He tried to ignore the voices as he poured his coffee by focusing on his senses. The sound of coffee pouring into his cup. The warmth of his mug on his hand in pleasant contrast the cold air of the ravine. The smell of roasted coffee beans. The heavenly, bitter taste of a fresh mug of coffee.

The method mostly worked, but he couldn’t completely ignore the complaining his voices were doing in the background.

_Anyone else feeling like Cassandra? **Who?** You know, CASSANDRA, FROM THE MYTHOLOGY. **Oh, her.** Bet Technoteach doesn’t remember._

“Bet,” Techno said against his better judgement. What could he say? He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, especially one from the voices in his own head.

“Uh… Cassandra… I know this,” Techno mused, cursing his sudden mind-blank.

_HE DOESN’T EVEN REMEMBER. **HAHA WHAT A LOSER.** TECHNOFAIL_

“It might be easier for me to think if you guys weren’t screaming in my ear,” Techno said dryly. He took another sip of his coffee. “Uh… she was cursed…” Suddenly, it clicked. “Oh _right_. She was able to see the future but nobody believed her.”

 _FINALLY. **SEE THE FUTURE? I CAN DO YOU ONE BETTER.** I feel like we should’ve discussed this _before _telling him. EH, IT’S NOT LIKE HE’LL BELIEVE US ANYWAY._

Techno sighed, wondering when this had become his life. “Chat, I need you to be honest with me, can you or can you not see the future?”

_YES. **NO.** SORT OF??_

“You guys are astonishingly unhelpful, to nobody’s surprise.” He held his hand up when the voices made offended retorts. “No, you know what? I don’t even want to hear it.”

He focused back on drinking his now slightly cooler coffee. When he was nearly done, he heard Wilbur’s familiar footfalls coming toward the door.

Ah, excellent, he could finally ask Wilbur what was going on with Tommy.

Wilbur slammed the door open, but instead of storming into the room, he walked. He barely looked in Techno’s direction as he walked straight toward the coffee pot, pouring himself a large mug of the stuff and almost immediately chugging it down.

_CHUG, CHUG, CHUG, CHUG, CHUG_

Techno was not deterred by such erratic behavior.

“Hey, Wilbur,” he said casually, tuning out his voices’ chanting, “I was just going to look for you. Had something I was going to ask.”

Wilbur glanced at Techno warily. “What is it?” he snapped.

Techno raised his arms in surrender. “Woah, what’s got you so riled up?”

Wilbur let out a shuddering laugh, running his fingers through his curly hair. “Tubbo betrayed us.”

Wait, what?

_HUH?? **OF COURSE, HE DID.** THIS DEFINITELY DIDN’T HAPPEN LAST TIME?? **POWER CORRUPTS.**_

“Wait a minute,” Techno said, “You’re saying, _Tubbo,_ that kid who would do anything you asked, is a traitor? Isn’t that a little bit, I don’t know, out of character?”

It would definitely explain why Tommy was so despondent, if it weren’t for the fact that it made no sense at all.

Wilbur began pacing. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, “Tubbo’s so easily manipulated, so easily convinced. It was probably all too easy for Schlatt to convince Tubbo that he was the good guy, that _I_ was the one that had to be stopped—”

“Yeah,” Techno hastened to interrupt, “but Tommy is his best friend.”

“And Fundy was my son,” Wilbur snapped. He let out another laugh, this one slightly more hysterical. “Family ties mean _nothing_ if the knot is too loose.”

 _Uh oh…CRAZY BOY ABOUT TO GO. **WHERE’S PHIL WHERE YOU NEED HIM?** WHY WOULD YOU THINK _PHIL _IS A GOOD IDEA? I mean… we could always kill him right now…_

Killing Wilbur was out of the question.

“What do you mean?” Techno asked cautiously.

Wilbur was gripping his hair more tightly now, and Techno resisted the urge to forcibly get Wilbur to let go before he ripped some locks out. Instead, he stood a healthy distance from his steadily deteriorating brother.

“Everyone left me, Technoblade!” Wilbur slammed his hands loudly against the wooden table, causing the entire thing to shake. “The only one left is Tommy! He’s the only one!”

_EXCUSE ME? **WHAT ARE WE, A POTATO?** OH, LET’S JUST USE THE BLADE AND THEN MAKE A NEW GOVERNMENT RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM._

“I’m still here, Wilbur,” Techno protested, unable to stop the hurt that pierced his chest, “If you would just let me help you—”

“You’re helping just fine as you are,” Wilbur said, pointing at Techno in a violent motion, “You’re helping me burn that _damn country_ to the ground, and that’s all I need your help for.”

_HE’S NOT EVEN TRYING TO HIDE IT ANYMORE. **THAT TRAITOR.**_

There were so many things Techno wanted to say to that, but he stopped himself from losing control. Wilbur clearly wasn’t right in the head.

“You clearly aren’t okay.” Techno took a careful step toward Wilbur. “You need help.”

“Don’t pretend you can fix me,” Wilbur growled. He chuckled, smiling so wide that practically all of his teeth were showing. “You don’t get to do that; you don’t get to act all high and mighty, because you’re the _Blade;_ you can do whatever you want; you can get whatever you want, because you’re _so perfect.”_

Wilbur full out laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “Phil _loved_ you, but not me. No, I was too boring, too untalented, too _defective_ for that.”

“Phil loves you,” Techno interrupted, swallowing down a very rude lump in his throat, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“OH YEAH?” Wilbur screamed, “Where is he now then?! Why hasn’t he come AT ALL?!”

“Maybe because you won’t let anyone—”

“NO! I don’t want to hear it! It was always, ‘Techno’ this, and ‘Techno’ that!” Wilbur paused, his breathing so heavy it sounded like he had just fought in a battle. He glared at Techno. “So, don’t go pretending you can fix me, because I _don’t need fixing!_ ”

_I DON’T KNOW, YOU MIGHT. **SOUND PRETTY BROKEN TO ME.** shut up, you guys, he has daddy issues._

For a moment, Techno was speechless. Had Wilbur really thought that all this time? Because if so…Techno had really screwed up. Phil too.

“You’re not broken,” Techno agreed, raising his hands up placatingly, “But I do think you need _help._ You know? Stars with an ‘h’? ends with a ‘p’? Rhymes with yelp?”

God, what was Techno even saying? He was so _bad_ at situations like this.

Wilbur’s glare was blazing.

“I don’t need _help,”_ he snarled, “You know who does need help? Tommy. My little brother.” He smiled, staring past Techno like he was seeing another scene entirely. “He’s so _small,_ Techno. He’s nothing like that brash boy from before. He woke up from a nightmare and he _clung_ to me.”

Techno was having a hard time keeping up with these mood swings. But Wilbur had a point. Tommy never readily accepted hugs for more than a few seconds, always claiming that he was too much of a ‘big man’ for them.

Wilbur continued, pacing in circles. “He doesn’t understand how dangerous everyone else is. Everyone else wants to kill him, even Tubbo, _especially_ Tubbo.” He looked back at Techno, grinning wildly. “I will kill every single one of those _monsters_ who want to hurt Tommy, and I swear to god, I am going to _enjoy it.”_

_PROTECT THE RACOON BOY. **AND THIS GUY IS SAFE WITH TOMMY??**_

For some inexplicable reason, rage surged through Techno, and he didn’t try to reel it in. “And you think Tommy’s safe with _you?”_ Techno snapped, taking a threatening step toward Wilbur, “I’ve seen what you’ve done to him.”

“I haven’t done anything to him,” Wilbur snapped, “I was teaching him a lesson, it was for his own good. I was protecting him.”

_Blood, blood, blood, blood_

“You’ve been _hurting_ him, Wilbur!” Techno shouted, “How can you call that protection?! That’s insane!”

“He can’t _leave me,_ Techno!” Wilbur all but shrieked, “He’s the only one I have left! And Dream said—”

_DREAM??? **LET’S PUNT THAT GREEN MANIAC**_

“Since when did you listen to what _Dream_ said?!” Techno asked sharply.

Wilbur scowled. “I don’t.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked toward Techno. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what is that?” Techno asked dryly. He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Wilbur warily.

“You’re trying to take him away from me,” Wilbur said, grinning again, “You’re trying to turn him against me, you’re going to betray me like everyone else.” He laughed. “But it won’t work. Tommy’s too loyal to me, too dependent on me, so stay the heck away from him.”

Techno let out an aggravated sigh and headed toward the door. “I’m not betraying you, Wilbur. I’m still with you. I’m just being honest.”

He _was_ still with Wilbur. He’d love nothing more than to burn Manberg into nothing but a pile of ash and dust, especially after he’s witnessed first-hand what this country has done to both of his brothers.

But as Techno stared down the hallway toward Tommy’s bedroom, he was beginning to doubt that Tommy was safe here.

_TALK TO THE BOY. **HE NEEDS THERAPY.** TALK TO THE BOY._

It was rare for the voices to unanimously agree on something like this, especially when Techno was ninety-percent sure there were still some who would love nothing more than to see Tommy burn with fire. Maybe those guys were just being drowned out at the moment.

Techno would love nothing more than to talk to Tommy, but he was pretty awful giving pep-talks, or therapy talks, or stuff like that. It was the price of awkwardness. Not to mention Tommy had made it pretty clear he didn’t want company earlier.

“Chat, I think I need to give him some space.” Techno spun around, ready to farm some potatoes and cool off. “Oh, don’t give me—”

Techno stopped. Tubbo was standing right in front of him.

Techno took a couple of steps toward the teen. “Tubbo? What are you—”

Tubbo bolted. Techno caught him.

_KILL. **MR. PRESIDENT SHOULD ROT IN A HOLE.** He isn’t president right now. SECRETARY OF STATE IS CLOSE ENOUGH. He hasn’t done anything. **BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD…** THERAPY, THERAPY, THERAPY_

Technoblade ignored the voices mixed feelings toward Tubbo and listened to his case.

The minute Tubbo brought up rescuing Tommy, half of the voices against Tubbo immediately turned over to his side.

_PROTECT THE BOY. **I CHANGED MY MIND, TUBBO YOU’RE A LIFE SAVER.** ARE WE FORGETTING THAT HE GOT RID OF THE TNT?? **WE HAVE WITHERS.** Blood, blood, blood…PROTECT, THERAPY, PROTECT, THERAPY_

Chat’s opinions’ aside, Techno let Tubbo go. Tommy’s safety was Techno’s number one priority at the moment. Destroying Manberg could come later.

Of course, Wilbur just had to go and ruin it, and Techno was forced to stop Wilbur from killing Tubbo then and there.

Wilbur hadn’t been lying earlier. He really _did_ seem to relish the idea of killing Tubbo just because he might be a danger to Tommy’s safety.

The voices wanted nothing more than to kill at least one person in Tommy’s bedroom—they were split on whether it be Tommy, Tubbo, or Wilbur, but the majority vote was for Wilbur—so Techno decided that he should leave long enough for them to cool down.

Besides, Wilbur was keeping too watchful of an eye on Tommy and Tubbo for Techno to enact any escape plans right this very second.

He’d work something out.

Schlatt felt like _crap._

He was very tempted to just give everyone the day off again, but that would probably be irresponsible, so he just sealed off his office.

He could barely think. He could barely walk without needing to puke. His hands couldn’t stop shaking. His heart felt like it was trying to beat out of his chest, and sometimes Schlatt thought he was back at that final day, dying of a heart attack all over again.

And he thought yesterday had been bad.

Someone was banging on the door, and Schlatt groaned at the piercing headache he received.

“Schlatt?” Schlatt recognized that voice, who was it again? “Schlatt, I want to talk to you.”

Schlatt put his head in his hands. He couldn’t even bring himself to be disgusted with how was sticky with sweat his entire face was.

He wanted a drink.

“I’m indisposed!” Schlatt shouted, letting out an aggravated moan as his headache fluctuated again.

The door opened, and Schlatt forced himself to sit up. The man… Quackity was walking toward him, wearing an expression Schlatt couldn’t read.

“What’s going on with you, man?” Quackity stopped in front of Schlatt’s desk. He sounded angry, which was fair enough.

“Nothing’s going on,” Schlatt said, hauling himself to his feet, “I’m just…”

His muscles seized suddenly, and Schlatt let out a cry of pain.

_Oh god he was dying again he was dying again…death would feel a whole ton better than this if he was being honest._

“Schlatt?”

Schlatt was on the ground. Had he collapsed?

Quackity was carefully helping Schlatt up. Schlatt could barely focus on his face, but he thought it was something crossed between worried and furious.

“Was that a seizure?” Quackity asked, “Schlatt, what the heck? Are you sick?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Schlatt said, collapsing back into his chair, “I’m perfectly—”

Someone’s communicator started ringing, and Schlatt let out yet another cry of pain as his headache spiked.

He really wanted a drink.

“Here, let me,” Quackity said, grabbing a communicator off of the desk. It must’ve belonged to Schlatt, he realized, if it was sitting on his own desk. Quackity stilled. The ringtone still played. “Oh crap.”

“Just turn the damn thing off already,” Schlatt moaned through his headache.

“It’s Wilbur.”

Schlatt swore loudly, much to his head’s increased pain. He rubbed his sweaty hands against his pants, before reaching for the phone.

“Let me have it.”

Quackity hesitated. “Schlatt, forget Wilbur, let’s get you to a hospital—”

“ _No,”_ Schlatt snapped, “I need to talk to him; it might be important.”

Quackity handed the communicator to Schlatt, and Schlatt fumbled for the answer button. When he finally clicked it, he pressed the communicator against his ear.

“Hello, Schlatt!” Wilbur said cheerfully, which was a bad sign within itself.

Schlatt winced. “What do you want?” he asked irritably, “Because I’m kinda in the middle of this thing—”

“I have Tubbo.”

The world stopped. Schlatt’s stomach churned.

“You what?” Schlatt choked out.

“I have Tubbo,” Wilbur said, “He tried to deliver Tommy to you last night, but I was a step ahead of your protege.”

Schlatt was stumbling out of his seat, hurrying toward the door. His sweaty hands slipped on the doorknob as he fought to open the door.

“What have you done to Tubbo?” Schlatt growled, finally thrusting the door open. Quackity followed.

“Where are you going Schlatt? Wait!” Quackity shouted after him.

Schlatt ignored him, instead focusing on Wilbur’s words. “I haven’t done anything to him yet,” he said, “I mean, I was going to kill him right away—” Schlatt’s heart-rate painfully spiked at that. “—but then I had an even better idea.”

“Wilbur, I _swear_ if you have hurt a hair on his head, I will—”

Schlatt wasn’t sure if Wilbur interrupted him or not, because the next thing he knew, he was back on the ground. Fundy was now also hovering over Schlatt, and Quackity was holding the communicator.

“Screw you,” Quackity was snarling, “You’re going to kill a sixteen-year-old? Do you realize how _sick_ that is?”

Wilbur said something else over the line, and Quackity’s face grew darker. “Of course, we wouldn’t—” Another pause. “I don’t know, prison?!”

What was going on again? Schlatt couldn’t think straight. Wilbur had called, that much Schlatt could remember, and something had happened to Tubbo…

_Tubbo._

Schlatt shot up immediately, causing Fundy to jump in surprise. “Schlatt! You’re awake! You should probably lie back down.”

Schlatt ignored him, trying to scramble up and grab the communicator from Quackity. Quackity danced out of the way and ended the call with another “screw you.”

“Okay,” Quackity said, focusing back on Schlatt, “We’re taking you to the hospital.”

“Are you kidding?” Schlatt growled, “Tubbo is literally in the hands of that _maniac,_ and you’re going to ignore that to put me in the hospital?”

“We’re not ignoring it,” Fundy said quickly, “You’re just really sick right now.”

“We’ll take care of Tubbo,” Quackity promised Schlatt, “But you’ve had two seizures over the course of the last thirty minutes, which is a pretty bad sign if you ask me.”

Schlatt laughed dryly as he leaned against Quackity for support. “You think?”

Schlatt froze when he heard Tubbo’s voice behind him. “Hey, Schlatt!”

“Tubbo?” Schlatt whispered. He pushed himself off of Quackity and spun around, searching for the source of the voice. “Tubbo, where are you?”

“Tubbo’s not here,” Fundy said slowly, looking at Schlatt like he had grown an extra head.

Schlatt scowled. “Of course he is, didn’t you just hear him?”

“Oh god, he’s hallucinating,” Quackity muttered, dragging Schlatt toward the exit, “Screwing withdraw, today of all days. This is the last time I’m letting Tubbo empty the alcohol supply, the _last_ time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol withdraw is no joke, and that's all I would like to say. 
> 
> Also, thanks for reading.
> 
> Also, let's be glad I finally got to Schlatt's POV again
> 
> Also, I hope you have a lovely evening/morning/whatever time it happens to be right now. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were a lot simpler when Tommy was six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: child abuse, manipulation, mentioned death, obsessive behavior, being tied up (Tubbo)

‘Cozy nights’ began back when Tommy was probably around six, maybe even younger.

Back then, Tommy had been deathly afraid of thunderstorms. He hated the way the rain battered against their roof, hated the way the trees looked like they were about to topple over at any minute, hated the sudden flashes of light, hated how the booming thunder seemed to shake the very foundations their house was built on.

At first, Tommy was pretty sure he would just call for Phil. However, he saw how amazing his older brothers were. Wilbur was so incredibly smart, calm, and loving. Technoblade was strong, unyielding, and unafraid.

Tommy wanted to be just like them. And they weren’t afraid of those little thunderstorms.

So, Tommy stopped calling for Phil whenever a thunderstorm hit in the middle of the night. Instead, he buried himself underneath his blankets, holding back whimpers. He was a big boy. Big boys weren’t afraid of thunderstorms.

One night, however, Tommy decided he couldn’t stand it and decided to go downstairs. Maybe he would be less afraid if he wasn’t in the upper floor of the house.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, however, he saw none other than Wilbur standing in the kitchen and staring at Tommy in shock.

“Tommy?” Wilbur had whispered, “Why are you awake?”

Tommy clenched his fists, hating that he didn’t have an impressive answer. What was he supposed to say? He was afraid of the storm? That he was like a baby who jumped at the sight of lightning flashing across the sky?

Tommy didn’t want to say any of those things, especially not to Wilbur, who’s opinion he valued immensely.

Instead, Tommy deflected, “Why are _you_ awake?”

Wilbur shrugged. “I woke up,” he said.

Tommy found this answer very unhelpful and was going to tell Wilbur that too, but light flashed through the windows and thunder boomed. Tommy flinched and yelped before he could stop himself.

Wilbur was staring at him more seriously now, and Tommy felt his face get hot in embarrassment.

“What are you looking at?” Tommy demanded.

Wilbur looked away immediately, opening up the kitchen cabinet. “I thought I might get myself some hot chocolate.” He took a red mug out of the cabinet. “Would you like some?”

Tommy winced as distant thunder reached his ears.

“Yeah, I guess,” Tommy said, trying not to sound too eager.

Wilbur made them both cups of hot chocolate, and they both curled up on the couch, mugs in hand. Tommy basked in the warmth and rich sweetness of the drink. Wilbur was the best at making hot chocolate.

“So, you’re still afraid of thunderstorms?” Wilbur asked quietly, wrapping his arm around Tommy’s shoulders.

Tommy scowled into his hot chocolate, blaming the burning sensation in his eyes from the steam coming from his mug.

“I’m not afraid,” Tommy said stubbornly.

“I’m afraid,” Wilbur whispered, his voice almost being lost amidst the battering rain.

Tommy looked up at Wilbur in shock. “But you’re not afraid of anything!” he exclaimed. Wilbur made a shushing noise, and Tommy quieted down. “You’re so brave, though.”

Wilbur laughed. “Your mum once said that you can’t be brave without being afraid.”

Another surprise. Wilbur never talked about Tommy’s mother. As a matter of fact, Tommy’s mother was almost never mentioned by anyone. Tommy had never questioned it before.

But now, Tommy suddenly found himself wanting to know more.

“Was she nice?” Tommy already knew the answer. There was no way his daddy would’ve married a bad person, but he wanted to hear it from Wilbur.

Wilbur reached across Tommy and put his already empty mug down on the end table and wrapped Tommy up in his arms, being careful not to jostle the hot chocolate Tommy was holding.

Tommy put his half-full mug on the end table next to Wilbur’s mug and rested his head on Wilbur’s chest. The sound of his heartbeat was calming compared to the rage outside.

“She was _very_ nice,” Wilbur whispered, “She was the one who found me, you know, after my parents…” Wilbur’s words sounded choked off, but Tommy needed to know more.

“After what?”

Wilbur buried his face into Tommy’s hair. “After they left me,” he whispered, “That’s what I’m afraid of. People leaving.”

“Oh.”

Tommy didn’t know what to make of that. It just seemed so unlike Wilbur to be afraid of anything. He supposed it made a little bit of sense. Tommy didn’t know what he would do if his daddy, Techno, and Wilbur were to leave him.

He never knew his mum, so he didn’t know what it was like to lose her.

And suddenly, something clogged Tommy’s throat, and his eyes became wet. Thunder shook the house again, and his frightened whimper came out as a broken sob.

Wilbur held Tommy closer, and Tommy wrapped his own arms around Wilbur, clutching onto his brother’s shirt.

“Oh, Toms,” he whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“Do you hate me?” Tommy sobbed, “I took Mummy away. She left because of me!”

Wilbur began rubbing circles into Tommy’s back, and the relaxing gesture only made Tommy cry all the more. It felt like he was drowning in his salty tears, like he couldn’t breathe at all, and he was getting Wilbur’s shirt wet, but he couldn’t stop, because he hurt Wilbur and now—

“I could never hate you, Tommy,” Wilbur said softly, making calming shushing noises, “And you didn’t take Kristin away.”

“But I killed her,” Tommy whimpered into Wilbur’s very wet shirt, “If I didn’t—”

“You didn’t kill her,” Wilbur whispered, rocking Tommy gently back and forth, “Her body just couldn’t handle things the way it was supposed to.”

“But it wouldn’t have to handle things if it weren’t for me.” Tommy sniffed loudly. “Everyone would be happier if I wasn’t born.”

This wasn’t the first time Tommy thought things like this, but it was the first time he talked about it.

“No, no.” Wilbur’s voice sounded choked. “You make us _so_ happy.”

“But—”

Wilbur gently pulled back. “Look at me.” Tommy looked up at Wilbur’s face, and was surprised to see a shaky smile on his brother’s face even a tear rolled down his cheek. “You know what your mum told me when you were born?”

Tommy shook his head, not daring to utter a word.

“She said, she said—” Wilbur’s smile wobbled as more tears spilled down his face before his expression melted into something suddenly soft. “She said, _Isn't he beautiful?_ ”

Wilbur’s voice was so filled with emotion, so filled with _love_ , that Tommy couldn’t do anything but stare.

Wilbur pulled him back into a hug, clutching Tommy to his chest. “She loved you _so much,”_ Wilbur whispered, “And you make all of us _so_ , _so_ happy.”

“Really?” Tommy whispered, his voice muffled against Wilbur’s shirt, “But you said you were afraid of people leaving, and Mummy left, and I was the one that made her go. Shouldn’t I make you sad?”

“You’re my baby brother,” Wilbur said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “and, besides, I’m afraid of you leaving me too.”

A flash of light filled the room, and Tommy let out a muffled shriek when the sound of thunder slammed against his ears. So caught up in the conversation, Tommy had almost forgotten about the storm outside.

“It’s okay,” Wilbur whispered soothingly, carding his fingers through Tommy’s hair, “You’re safe.”

Tommy decided that maybe Wilbur could understand his fear. It was only fair, considering everything Wilbur had just told him.

“Creepers.”

“What?” Wilbur breathed out, sounding surprised.

Tommy swallowed; he had never told anyone this before, not even Daddy. “The thunder sounds like creepers.”

“Tommy.” Wilbur sounded horror-stricken, and Tommy wondered if this was a bad idea. “When, _how_ do you know what a creeper sounds like?”

“I—” Tommy’s voice trembled, but now that he started he was afraid to stop. “I was playing outside, and there was one standing right there, and so I ran away, but it still blew up, and it was _so loud,_ and I thought I was going to die, and it was so scary!”

Wilbur’s voice shook when he next spoke. “You mean… that creeper hole Dad found near the backdoor a year ago… that wasn’t a random occurrence? And that’s why you suddenly got afraid of thunderstorms?”

Tommy nodded.

“Oh, _Tommy.”_ Wilbur sounded anguished. “Were you hurt?”

“No,” Tommy whimpered, “I was too fast… too fast for any stupid… dumb creeper to get _me_.”

Well, in reality, Tommy had been pushed back by the blast, fortunately not sustaining any burns, but he had gotten pretty scraped up. He told Phil that he tripped. 

Tommy didn’t realize he had anymore tears left in him, but apparently his body had secret warehouses full of them, because suddenly he was crying into Wilbur’s shirt all over again.

“I’m getting your shirt wet,” Tommy whimpered.

Wilbur let out a watery laugh. “Well, I’m getting _your_ hair wet, so there.”

Tommy wasn’t sure how long they cried, but by the time they were done, the storm had finally started to die down, and Tommy was feeling quite sleepy.

“Don’t worry,” Wilbur whispered, “I’ll protect you.”

“I promise not to leave,” Tommy said as he fell asleep in Wilbur’s arms.

After that, it became a tradition of sorts for Wilbur and Tommy to cuddle on the couch with hot chocolate in hand whenever they couldn’t sleep. Wilbur called them ‘cozy nights,’ and Tommy thought the name was quite on the nose.

The tradition slowed as Tommy got older, but even during the first war for L’manberg, Tommy and Wilbur would curl up next to each other, saying nothing, trying to forget the death and destruction.

Now, Tommy was curled up next to Wilbur, still marveling over the warmth of his body, of the heart beating in his chest, of how _alive_ Wilbur was compared to Ghostbur.

Tommy was clutching a mug of hot chocolate with Wilbur’s arms wrapped around him, and if it weren’t for the mustiness of the ravine, Tommy could almost pretend that everything was perfectly fine and normal.

But it was hard to pretend when his best friend was tied up in the corner of the room, looking terrified for his life.

“Wilbur,” Tommy whispered, his voice cracking from all the crying he had done before.

Wilbur hummed, resting his head against Tommy’s. “Yes, Toms?”

“Please let Tubbo go,” he whispered in a rush, “Please, I promise I won’t leave you, I promise, I promise, but please don’t hurt Tubbo. Please let him go.”

Wilbur’s embrace tightened. Instead of the comforting sensation Tommy used to have, he felt restrained, like Wilbur was holding onto him with no intentions of letting go.

“You know I can’t do that, Tommy,” Wilbur said, a warning in his voice, “He’ll hurt you.”

Fear thrummed through every part of Tommy’s veins, his instincts pleading with him to _stop talking, leave it alone, keep Wilbur happy, Dream doesn’t like it when you argue back, just shut up, shut up, shut up._

But he made eye contact with Tubbo, who was shaking his head ever so slightly. Tommy didn’t know exactly what he was shaking his head at, but he could recognize the _unadulterated fear_ in his best friend’s eyes.

Tommy was never good at leaving things well enough alone anyway.

“He can’t hurt me if I don’t go with him,” Tommy pleaded, “I’ll stay with you, I’ll never leave, I promise, but Tubbo doesn’t have anything to do with this. Tubbo hasn’t hurt me yet, he won’t ever hurt me. Just let him go.”

Tubbo was shaking his head even more furiously now, and Tommy wondered if he had finally lost it. Didn’t he _want_ to live another day?

Wilbur was squeezing so tightly it hurt. Tommy bit back a whimper. _Dream didn’t like it when he whined._

“You know I can’t,” Wilbur said, his voice becoming sterner, “What have I told you time and time again?”

Tommy wouldn’t, _couldn’t,_ repeat it. He didn’t want to lose himself again, didn’t want to believe he was truly alone in the world.

“Wilbur—” he tried.

“ _Tommy.”_ Wilbur’s voice was harsh, and Tommy felt every part of his body freeze.

“You’re the only one I can trust.” The words came out automatically, as if Tommy’s brain had triggered a defense mechanism to keep Wilbur happy.

Wilbur let out a satisfied hum, carding his fingers through Tommy’s hair. “There’s my good boy.”

Tubbo’s face seemed to switch from horror to anger at the words. Tommy felt humiliated. He couldn’t believe that Tubbo had to see him like this. So weak and pathetic, so useless.

 _He’ll never want anything to do with you now,_ a voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Dream’s said, _You’re a useless, immature, selfish child, who can’t do anything for anyone._

Tommy almost buried his face into Wilbur’s chest so that he could pretend that Tubbo wasn’t there, watching all of this. He thought better of it, though. While he was sure Wilbur would love nothing more than to have Tommy crying into him like he was six again, Tommy was _not,_ in fact, six-years-old, and refused to humiliate himself any further.

Ghostbur wouldn’t treat him like this. Ghostbur wouldn’t squeeze so tightly that it hurt, wouldn’t threaten the life of his best friend. If Ghostbur were here right now, he would be passing around blue, making sure everyone was alright, trying to diffuse the situation.

Wait…did Tommy seriously _miss_ Ghostbur? Was Tommy really so ungrateful that he wished his brother were dead again?

_Selfish, selfish, selfish_

It didn’t matter right now. Tommy reminded himself firmly that if he didn’t do something soon, Tubbo would be dead. And who was Tommy without Tubbo?

Tommy took a deep breath, gathering all of his remaining courage, and said in the boldest voice he could muster, “Wilbur, if you don’t let Tubbo go, I swear to god, I _will_ leave, and I won’t look back.”

It was a bluff. It was such a bluff. Tommy didn’t dream of leaving Wilbur in this mental state; the mere idea was criminal. Because as much as Tommy hated being here, as much as he hated the way Wilbur was treating him, Tommy knew that Wilbur needed _help_ , and Tommy needed to be the one to give it to him.

He just hoped that his bluff would be enough for Wilbur to let Tubbo go.

The silence was deafening, and Tommy felt dread form in his stomach. Whenever Dream was upset, he would be silent, tilting his head slightly with his lips in a thin line. He would be silent for just long enough to know that Tommy had _screwed up,_ and then the lies, the harsh words, the punishment began.

For a horrible moment, Tommy had no idea where he was, and it was terrifying, because Wilbur and Dream dealt punishment in two incredibly different and incredibly similar ways.

And then two hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed Tommy back. “Look at me.”

Tommy looked up at Wilbur.

It was impossible to describe the expression on his brother’s face. It was soft, but hard. It was terrified, but calm. It was as if Wilbur couldn’t decide how he was supposed to feel, and a war of emotions was battling in his brother’s mind.

Tommy willed himself not to tremble and failed horribly.

“Where would you go?” Wilbur asked, his words biting.

Tommy couldn’t breathe.

_“I could just leave,” Tommy said to Dream one day, feeling particularly stubborn._

_Dream laughed. “Where would you go? Nobody wants you.”_

Tommy’s ears started ringing, but that didn’t stop him from hearing every word Wilbur said.

“Would you go to _Manberg_?” Wilbur asked, “They would kill you on sight. Would you go to Eret? He’s a traitor.”

Tommy forced himself to take in another gulp of air, even though every breath burned like ash in his lungs.

“Besides—” Wilbur’s face became suddenly dark as he tightly squeezed Tommy’s shoulders. “—if you leave, what’s going to stop Dream from finding you?”

Tommy froze.

Wilbur was right. Wilbur was right, and he hated it. Heck, Tommy hadn’t even _planned_ on actually leaving, and he was still stricken by how well Wilbur had cornered him. What if he actually had wanted to leave? How much worse would he be feeling right now?

Because Wilbur was right. If Tommy left, he would be an easy target for Dream. There would be literally nobody stopping him from taking Tommy back to that hell.

And then Tommy remembered that this time’s Dream wasn’t actually the same Dream who exiled and manipulated him. Maybe this Dream wouldn’t want to do that again.

Oh, who was he kidding? Dream was a terrible person, no matter what timeline Tommy happened to be in.

Wilbur smiled triumphantly. “You’re finally starting to understand,” he said, “I’m the only one in this world who will protect you.”

Tommy was suddenly reminded of that promise from a decade ago. Back before they had been tainted by these stupid wars. Back before Dream had ruined everything for everyone.

Tommy stopped arguing with Wilbur after that. It was clear that nothing he would say would convince Wilbur to let Tubbo go.

Tommy fell asleep in his brother’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me getting carried away strikes again. I did not intend for the flashback to be that long, but it is, sue me. 
> 
> Techno, while all this is happening: Alright, time to rescue some boys
> 
> Thanks for everyone's support so far! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue mission officially a go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attacks, child abuse, emotional manipulation, drugging, nightmares

Technoblade had been hoping to sneak the kids out of Pogtopia that night, but Wilbur had managed to get Tommy to fall asleep on top of him, much to the chat’s chagrin.

_Possessive creep. **Let’s slit his throat.** I want to puke. TOMMY LOOKS SO MISERABLE. I don’t know… he seems kind of comfortable? **I don’t understand how he can look simultaneously so comfortable and so miserable at the same time.** LET’S SLIT HIS THROAT._

The chat wasn’t exactly wrong. Tommy looked as though he had cried for hours, and even his breathing sounded more like shuddering sobs. At the same time, though, Tommy was clutching onto Wilbur’s jacket nestling himself deeper into his brother’s arms.

Wilbur had his arms wrapped around Tommy in a way that might seem endearing at first glance, but upon closer inspection, seemed more possessive than anything else. Wilbur was clutching onto Tommy the same way a little kid might clutch onto a toy he didn’t want to share.

Tubbo was also asleep in the corner of the room, looking like he was faring no better than Tommy. Possibly worse, considering that the kid was gagged, tied up, and on the cold stone floor.

Techno turned around and left the room with a quiet sigh. There was no way he was going to be able to extract Tommy without waking Wilbur, and Technoblade seriously doubted that Tubbo was going to be willing to leave without Tommy, not that he could blame him.

 **_LET’S SLIT HIS THROAT._ ** _BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD. **Ghostbur would even call us a public hero if we did that.** I mean, he didn’t exactly blow up L’manberg yet, so… **I MISS GHOSTBUR.** Really? I thought he was pathetic. **BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD**_

“For the last time,” Techno muttered as he walked quickly to his potato farm, “What are you guys talking about?”

_Ghostbur, obviously. **You know, the one with that sheep he named Friend?** HAIL FRIEND. **UGH, friend.** SHUT UP FRIEND WAS THE BEST SHEEP ANYONE COULD EVER ASK FOR. **Guys, he doesn’t know about Friend, remember?**_

Techno reached for a hoe, ready to stress farm more potatoes. “Yeah, I think you should be more concerned about the fact that I don’t know this Ghostbur you’re talking about. And please don’t tell me it’s a mix between ‘Ghost’ and ‘Wilbur’ because I’ve already told you I’m not killing him.”

_WHY NOT. **IT WOULDN’T EVEN BE HARD.** JUST KILL HIM, GET TOMMY OUT, AND SPAWN A COUPLE OF WITHERS IN L’MANBERG. **It’s Manberg, now.** OH, SAME DIFFERENCE._

Techno tuned out the Chat’s arguing as he started harvesting potatoes. The soft dirt underneath his fingers grounded him, reminded him that there was more to feel and do than just merciless killing.

He went on like that for a while, just harvesting and planting more potatoes. One potato, however, he grimaced at.

“Poisoned,” he muttered, sticking it in his inventory anyway. You never knew when poison could be handy.

_LET’S POISON HIM. **YEAH.** POISON, POISON, POISON_

Actually…

“You know, Chat?” Techno said, “That’s not actually a half bad idea.”

_HE LISTENS. **I never thought I’d see the day.** EVERYONE THIS CALLS FOR CELEBRATION. **I’LL BRING THE KINFE.**_

“Now, hold on.” Techno raised his arms placatingly. “I still haven’t agreed to any murder.”

 **_OH, COME ON._ ** _FLIPS TABLE OVER IN RAGE._

Techno sighed. “Listen, okay? I’ll spike his coffee or something. Then I can tell him he got sick and Quackity or someone took the kids while I was distracted.”

_SERIOUSLY? **Techno, you can’t lie to save your life.** The fact you managed to ‘successfully’ hide Tommy from Dream is a miracle._

“Wait a minute,” Techno said, “When did I hide Tommy from Dream? And don’t tell me that future stuff again.”

_FUTURE. **FUTURE.** FUTURE. **WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO US DAMNIT.** THEY SAY THERE WAS A SPECIAL PLACE, WHERE MAN BELIEVED HIS VOICES CAME FROM THE FUTURE._

“Okay, don’t try improvising song lyrics,” Techno said dryly, heading to the kitchen, “You are clearly terrible at holding a tune.”

_MY FUTURE. **OUR FUTURE.** MY FUTURE. **OUR FUTUUUURE.**_

“You guys sound like a bunch of orphans trying to sing happy birthday,” Techno grumbled, massaging his temple.

_HEY! **OUR SINGING IS BEAUTIFUL.**_

He entered the kitchen, ignoring the voices antics. He checked the clock on the wall. The sun should be rising about now.

“Alright,” Techno said, “Time to drug my brother’s breakfast.”

An hour later, a sudden scream echoed across the ravine.

Without thinking too hard about it, Techno scrambled out of the kitchen, completely ignoring the eggs he had on the stove.

_TOMMY. **I forgot he did this.** WILBUR IS NOT GOING TO HELP AT ALL._

No screams followed the initial cry, but somehow Techno didn’t find himself comforted. His suspicions were proven correct as he headed shuddering sobs from the other room.

“Tommy, breathe.” Wilbur voice sounded mildly hysterical. Techno burst through the door loudly.

Tommy was on the ground, curled in on himself, staring off into the distance. His chest was rising up and down at an inhuman rate, and his shuddering sobs were sounding more like a drowning man’s final breaths.

Wilbur was holding Tommy firmly by the shoulders, shaking him slightly.

Tubbo, who was originally in the corner of the room, was crawling forward like an inchworm, wearing a determined scowl and letting out incomprehensible shouts in Wilbur’s direction through this gag. Techno could barely hear him at all over Tommy’s breathing.

Speaking of whom, Tommy’s face was getting paler, and he was looking closer and closer to fainting,

“Breathe damnit!” Wilbur shouted, his hysteria being replaced by anger, “Look at me in the eyes and breathe!”

_POISON. **KNIFE.** Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood_

Tommy froze, not breathing at all. Techno’s heart stopped, and Tubbo’s muffled shouting died out immediately.

Techno watched, his horror mounting, as Tommy obediently looked Wilbur in the eyes, his shoulders hunched in submission.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I promise I didn’t mean to—“

Tommy dissolved into incoherent babbling, and Techno’s dread created a pit in his stomach. And his voices suddenly spoke in unison, unleashing their dangerous fury.

**_DREAM._ **

It took everything Techno had not to see red in that moment, not to pull out his sword and kill everyone in the room. Because his voices screamed, _bellowed,_ in rage, demanding blood, demanding that Wilbur be beaten into the ground, demanding that Techno seek out Dream and make sure he never saw the light of day again.

Wilbur’s voice, ironically enough, snapped him out of it.

“ _Shut up_! Just, SHUT UP!” Wilbur’s voice was an unearthly shriek.

Techno understood that overwhelming need to get Tommy to _stop_ babbling, to _stop_ begging, to _stop_ reminding him that he had failed somewhere, except he didn’t even know _where._

That didn’t mean he thought screaming at the already panicking teen was the best method to do so.

Tommy stopped babbling. Tommy stopped doing anything. He just stared straight ahead, past Wilbur, past Techno, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

Wilbur _finally_ loosened his grip on Tommy’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Tommy blinked, looking more alert than before. A few seconds later, he burst into tears.

“Shh, shh,” Wilbur whispered, “You’re alright. Wilbur’s here. You’re alright.”

Techno became vaguely aware that the voices were screaming, that they had been screaming for a while. He barely heard them. The horror of what he was witnessing was just too much for him to wrap his mind around. He wanted to move; he wanted to take Tommy away from Wilbur and leave, but his legs wouldn’t move.

He could only watch.

Tommy clutched onto Wilbur’s jacket, sobbing heavily. Wilbur rocked him back and forth, whispering comforts. Comforts that only made Techno feel sicker by the second.

Finally, _finally,_ Tommy pulled himself together enough for Wilbur to let go of him, and Techno suddenly became more aware of his senses.

Namely, his sense of smell. Was that… smoke?

_KILL HIM. **THE EGGS.** HUG THE CHILD. **THE EGGS.**_

Oh _crap,_ the _eggs._

At first, Techno wanted to stay here. He hated the idea of leaving Tommy with Wilbur and his twisted affection.

Then he realized that Wilbur wasn’t going to let him do anything, and a fire was really the last thing they needed. Especially when they were underground and smoke could get trapped _very_ easily.

_THE EGGS. **WHAT ARE YOU DOING; WHY ARE YOU LEAVING HIM!**_

Techno dashed out of the room and burst back into the kitchen. He was met with the sound of obnoxious sizzling and a rancid smell coming from the plume of smoke emerging from the stove.

_THIS STOVE IS ON FIRE! **WE DIDN’T START THE FIRE, IT WAS ALWAYS BURNING SINCE TECHNO BEEN LEAVING.** Maybe take the eggs off the stove next time._

Techno held his sleeve up to his face to breathe better. Walking toward the smoke, he reached into the cabinets and found their supply of salt and baking soda. He then proceeded to toss it at the fire, watching the flames go down.

_Good bye, fire. **You were beautiful.** We will miss you. **Press F for respects. F,** F, f, **f,** fffffffff_

“Chat, five seconds ago you were screaming at me to put it out.”

_Five seconds ago, is a long time. **People change. HEARTS change.** WAIT A MINUTE, WEREN’T WE GOING TO USE THE EGGS TO DRUG WILBUR?? **OH NO YOU’RE RIGHT.** AAAAAAAH_

Techno sighed and grabbed the searing pan. Due to being a piglin hybrid, he burned a lot less easily and didn’t need an oven mitt. Instead, he quickly dumped the charred eggs into the trashcan.

“Calm yourselves,” Techno said, “The coffee has survived.”

Techno immediately pulled a potion of sleeping out of his inventory and poured it into the coffee pot.

“Hopefully the bitterness of the coffee will overpower the taste,” Techno muttered, “He drinks it black.”

_LIKE HIS HEART AND SOUL._

Techno only sighed and put the empty bottle back into his inventory.

It turned out that Wilbur was a very occupied man. Which was good, Techno supposed, since it gave him more time to air the remaining smoke out of the kitchen, but he was getting impatient for Wilbur to drink his damn coffee already.

But _no,_ first he had to _make a call._

Techno was there, mostly because he didn’t want to leave Tommy and Tubbo _alone_ with Wilbur, even though he wasn’t sure if he was actually being any help. Tubbo was still curled up on the ground, and Tommy was still curled in on himself, looking afraid of everything that moved.

Wilbur was right. He _did_ look small.

The call started innocently enough. At least, as innocently as it could with Wilbur on the phone.

Wilbur started out sitting next to Tommy on the couch, keeping an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. The phone rang for maybe about a minute, and just as Techno thought Schlatt wasn’t going to bother to answer, he did.

Wilbur’s face brightened like it was his birthday.

“Hello, Schlatt!” he said cheerfully. Both Tommy and Tubbo winced.

Either Wilbur had his volume on loud enough or Techno’s enhanced hearing was enough to pick it up, because Techno could hear Schlatt’s end clear as day.

“What do you want?” Schlatt’s voice sounded annoyed, but there was a fogged quality to it. Was he sick? “Because I’m kinda in the middle of something—”

_SCHLATT. **GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL.** DIED OF A HEART ATTACK. **WILL TECHNO BELIEVE US?** OF COURSE NOT._

Wilbur grinned at the wall widely. “I have Tubbo. “

Silence. Then,

“You _what?”_

Wilbur got to his feet; Techno wasn’t sure why. Maybe he just got too overexcited. “I have Tubbo,” he repeated, “He tried to deliver Tommy to you last night, but I was a step ahead of your protégé.”

“What have you done to Tubbo?” Schlatt didn’t demand; he _snarled_ like a wolf who’s master had been injured.

_SCHLATT CARES? **WHATTT?** WHY IS HE EVEN BOTHERING? **DOESN’T HE WANT TUBBO DEAD?** AREN’T THEY MAKING A FESTIVAL PURELY TO KILL TUBBO??_

It was nice seeing the Chat confused for a change. Well, in all fairness, Techno was definitely _more_ confused than his voices, but his point still stood.

Wilbur threatened Tubbo’s life, and then Schlatt said something weirdly protective, and then there was the sound of _crashing?_ And then Quackity had the phone and began yelling at Wilbur, who got more and more aggravated the more Quackity told him the _truth_ of the situation.

Techno vaguely noted that Tubbo was crying. Tommy was staring at Tubbo, but he didn’t move from his spot on the couch.

_WHAT IS GOING ON?? **WHY IS SCHLATT PROTECTIVE?** DADSCHLATT POG? **ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?** HE’S PART OF A TYRANNIC SYSTEM. SCRATCH THAT, HE’S THE TYRANT._

In the midst of the voices confused shouting, the call must’ve ended, because Wilbur was shoving his communicator into his pocket, smiling slightly.

“Well, that definitely got to them,” he said, “And I’ll not be surprised if they try to stage a rescue.”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “And that’s good how?”

Wilbur raised both of his eyebrows. “Well, then we can kill Tubbo right in front of him,” he said like it was obvious.

_NOOOoooo. **I’LL BRING THE KNIFE.** OH, LET THE FUTURE PRESIDENT DIE IT WILL DO US ALL FAVORS. **SHUT UP NOBODY ASKED YOU.**_

Wilbur, obviously unaware of the Chat’s inner turmoil, walked over to Tubbo and heaved the boy over his shoulder. Tubbo began squirming violently, making loud noises through his gag and clearly trying his best to kick Wilbur, but Wilbur held a tight grip on him. To Tubbo’s credit, he did not let up on the kicking part.

_KICK HARDER. **HE KICKS LIKE A GIRL.** HAVE YOU SEEN NIKI KICK A MAN WHEN SHE’S DETERMINED?? **Wasn’t that us?** Oooh yeah, that hurt. **KICK LIKE NIKI WHEN SHE’S DETERMINED.**_

Ignoring the struggling teen, Wilbur then went over to Tommy, holding out his free hand.

“Come on, Toms,” Wilbur said, “It’s breakfast time.”

Tommy was still staring at Tubbo as he allowed Wilbur to help him up and walk him to the kitchen.

 _Almost there,_ Techno reminded himself as he walked toward the kitchen, _almost there._

When they entered the kitchen, Tommy sniffed and stiffened. Why—oh, it was probably the smoke smell. It must not have aired all the way out.

“What happened in here?” Tommy grumbled.

Techno elected to ignore the wavering in Tommy’s voice. “Breakfast gone wrong.”

Wilbur laughed as he dumped Tubbo in the corner of the room. Tubbo let out a muffled cry when he hit the ground with a painful-sounding thump. Tommy flinched.

“That sounds like you,” Wilbur said, going to the counter and grabbing the coffee pot. As Wilbur began pouring, Techno kept his eyes glued on the progression of the dark brown liquid filling his mug.

Wilbur gave Techno a suspicious glance. “What are you looking at?”

_HE KNOWS. **QUICK, PLAY DUMB.**_

“Looking at? I’m not looking at anything,” Techno said, “I was just… ah, lost in thought. Yeah, lost in thought, that’s right.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes at Techno. “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Techno said quickly. Too quickly.

_OH NO, WE’RE DEAD._

Wilbur glared at Techno.

“You’d better not be thinking of betraying me, Technoblade,” Wilbur snarled, pointing a threatening finger at him.

“Betray you?” Techno asked, “Why would I betray you? I hate government, remember?”

Wilbur picked up his mug from the counter, and for a horrifying moment, Techno was afraid he was going to dump it all out.

Instead, Wilbur chugged the entire thing.

 _Chugged_ it _._

The _entire thing._

The _entire_ mug of _spiked_ coffee.

_OH MY NOTCH, HE DID IT. **I CAN’T BELIEVE IT.** WHO CHUGS THEIR COFFEE? **THIS GUY, APPARENTLY.** CHUG, CHUG, CHUG, CHUG_

Already, Techno felt the tension drain out of his body, even as Wilbur violently slammed the mug down with a grimace.

“What was in that coffee?” he muttered, “I feel so—” Rage flashed across his face, and he took an unsteady step toward Techno. His words slurred together when he next spoke. “Techno, you damn—”

Wilbur collapsed onto the floor. Tommy let out a startled cry.

“Wilbur!”

Tommy rushed over to Wilbur, probably to check that he’s not dead. Techno went straight to Tubbo, who tried to shuffle backward, fear evident in his eyes.

_YOU SHOULD FEAR US. **CAN’T EVEN KIDNAP A MAN PROPERLY.** CAN’T EVEN EXECUTE A MAN PROPERLY. **Guys, that’s a good thing.**_

Techno crouched down and immediately untied the gag around Tubbo’s face as carefully as he could. Tubbo still winced as the gag came off of his face, and Techno winced when he saw the ugly red imprints that the gag had made, like an exaggerated smiley face.

Techno immediately started untying the knots of the ropes restraining Tubbo.

“Oh my god,” Tubbo whispered, his voice cracking from disuse, “Oh my god.”

Almost instantly after Tubbo spoke, Tommy was on his feet, running away from Wilbur’s unconscious form and toward Tubbo.

“Tubbo!” he cried out.

Tommy stopped about a foot away from Tubbo, just as Techno pulled the last of the ropes off of him. Tommy gave Tubbo a wobbly smile, and Techno already saw tears pricking the corner of his eyes.

Techno helped Tubbo to his feet.

“Hey, Tommy,” Tubbo said, relief bleeding into his voice. Techno vaguely felt like he was watching two long-lost brothers reunite.

Tommy opened his mouth, looking ready to say something, but he shut it again, staring at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m sorry you had to see that, or experience that, I’m sorry—”

“Tommy,” Tubbo cut in softly.

Tommy continued rambling, not looking up from the ground. “But you and Techno can get out of here now, and it’ll be fine, and I’ll help Wilbur, you don’t have to worry about me—"

_PARDON? **YEAH RIGHT.** NOT EVEN I WOULD WISH SUCH A FATE UPON RACOON BOI. **SET HIM STRAIGHT.** BUT NICELY, THE BOY HAS ENOUGH TRAUMA AS IT IS._

Techno held up a hand.

“Hold it,” he said. Tommy flinched and shut his mouth firmly, not looking up from the ground. “You’re _not_ staying here, Tommy. You’re leaving with Tubbo.”

Tommy’s head snapped up toward Techno, his face full of horror. “No,” he whispered, taking a step back, “no, Techno, if you stay, he’ll _kill_ you. He knows what you did, and you can’t lie to save your life.”

 **_I’D LIKE TO SEE HIM TRY._ ** _Finally, an excuse to bring the knife._

Techno opened his mouth to speak, but Tubbo beat him to it.

“You can’t stay here,” Tubbo said, taking a small step toward Tommy, “Don’t you see what he’s doing?”

Tommy flinched, glancing down at Wilbur sprawled on the ground. “Of course I see what he’s doing,” he said coldly, “But I can’t leave.”

Tubbo let out a pained noise and ran his fingers through his hair. “Why not?” he asked, his voice becoming firmer, “He’s _abusing_ you, Tommy, you can’t just—”

“You don’t understand,” Tommy said, glaring at Tubbo, “It’s not like that.”

“What’s not like that?” Techno interjected.

Tommy let out a frustrated groan taking a couple more steps back. “He’s not like, he’s not like… he’s not doing this on purpose. Well, he is, but I mean, he actually _cares.”_

_SO?? **YEAH, LIKE A POSSESSIVE CREEP.** RED FLAGS, BIG RED FLAGS. **NOT LIKE WHO??**_

“So?” Tubbo demanded, “That doesn’t give him the right to hurt you.”

Tommy crossed his arms. “It makes me feel better about the situation, especially considering that I am _not_ leaving.”

It was Tubbo’s turn to scowl. “Well, I’m not leaving without you, so—”

Tommy scoffed. “You’ll die if you stay here.”

Tubbo crossed his arms resolutely. “And so will you.”

The silence felt like pouring rain, and for a moment, even the Chat was silent.

Tommy let out a short laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tubbo, Wilbur would never hurt me. Permanently, at least.”

_PERMANENTLY? **YOU CAN’T BECOME COMPLACENT TO ABUSE.** ARE YOU SURE WE CAN’T KILL HIM??_

“He _is_ hurting you, though,” Tubbo said softly, “And I don’t mean physically. You’re miserable, Tommy, you look like you’re expecting a hit from everyone, you shy away from everything you see. If you stay here, I wouldn’t be surprised if I never saw you again.”

Tommy uncrossed his arms and took a huge step back, his mouth slightly agape. Then, he scowled and closed it shut again.

“I can’t leave,” Tommy said firmly.

“Why not?” Techno asked, “Why can’t you leave?”

Tommy looked pleadingly at Tubbo and Techno. “He’s ill,” he practically begged, “He needs _help,_ not a sword through his gut.”

Techno felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice on top of him. The voices were screaming, but Techno ignored them.

“Tommy… nobody said anything about killing Wilbur,” Techno said slowly, “Why, why would you think we would do that?”

Painfully obvious fear flashed across Tommy’s face, but it was replaced by that stubborn scowl. “Forget I said anything.”

“Tommy.” Tubbo’s voice was different now. It sounded far more pained, far more haunted. “Nobody’s going to kill Wilbur, especially not Phil.”

Techno’s heart skipped a beat. Why would they bring Phil into this?

The Chat was going absolutely ballistic about now, but they were nothing more than white noise to Techno, he couldn’t pay any attention to them.

Tommy looked about as shocked as Techno felt, because he stumbled back a few steps, causing his back to hit the wall.

“If-if I were to be made president by Wilbur,” Tommy stuttered, “What, what would I do?”

Tubbo smiled, but Techno was pretty sure the kid was about to burst into tears. “You would give it up,” he whispered, letting out a choked sob, “And then Wilbur would hand the presidency over to me before blowing up the entire country and becoming a ghost.”

What.

Tommy’s eyes widened as he pressed himself farther against the wall. “Oh my god.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here is your chapter. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I learned that you shouldn't dump water on grease fire today, so that was fun. (Edit: Thank you for your concern, but I did not dump water on a grease fire in real life. I was researching how Techno should put out the fire on the stove, and originally he dumped water on it before the internet told me that was a stupid move.)
> 
> Please be nice in the comments. You all are but this is just a friendly neighborhood reminder.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get the kids!” Techno shouted, rolling out of the way of Dream’s thrust to his chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced suicide attempt and/or fake suicide, referenced character death, violence, blood, general angst

A shocked silence hung in the room; the same sort of shocked silence that might follow the news of a death.

The sudden quiet allowed Techno to hear his voices somewhat. He was pretty sure they were screaming at the top of their lungs, but they sounded distant as he tried to wrap his mind around what he was witnessing.

_what. **what.** oh my notch, they’re from the future too. **one of us, one of us.** howwwwww??? **aaaaaaah**_

Tommy and Tubbo seemed completely unaware of his internal shock and confusion. They were extremely busy staring at each other, their mouths slightly agape.

Tubbo was the first one to break the silence.

“You too?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

For some reason, Tommy winced at the statement. Still, he gave Tubbo a tiny nod. “I thought I was the only one.” Tommy’s voice was hoarse, as if he had been yelling for hours. “I could’ve _sworn.”_

Tubbo let out a wet laugh. “I thought that too before Schlatt spilled the beans.”

_schlattttt????? **whaaaaattttttt.** oh that makes a lot of sense, actually._

Tommy closed his eyes, tilting his face toward the ceiling. “Of course,” he muttered, “Because this situation couldn’t get _any_ better.”

Techno hated to interrupt emotionally charged conversations, but in his defense, he had no idea what was going on. He kind of needed answers for the sake of his sanity.

“Um… sorry to interrupt,” he said, “But what situation are we talking about now? Because I’m feeling distinctly out of the loop.”

_Future. **What have we been telling you this entire time???** Future. **Future.** Maybe you’ll believe us this time. **Please believe us, we beg of you.**_

Tommy let out a shuddering breath but didn’t say anything, keeping his eyes firmly closed. It was almost as if he wanted to shut out the entire world.

Tubbo massaged the bridge of his nose like an old man. And in a slight moment of madness, Techno thought he almost looked like Phil getting ready to talk about something unpleasant.

“Uh, we probably shouldn’t have had this conversation in front of you,” Tubbo said, letting out a wet chuckle.

Tommy snapped his eyes open, looking at Techno like he had never seen him before. He immediately turned back to Tubbo, pushing himself off the wall.

“And why the heck not?” Tommy demanded, “Why shouldn’t we have this conversation in front of him? After all, if _Schlatt_ is back, what’s to say that Techno hasn’t been from the future this entire time?!”

Techno was pretty sure he was dreaming at this point, which was a shame, because it meant he would have to knock Wilbur out _again_ when Techno finally woke up.

_You’re not dreaming, genius. **Get with the program.**_

Tubbo flinched. “Tommy, if Technoblade’s from the future, I would be dead by now.”

Tommy shook his head. “You don’t know that.” He glanced back at Techno, his blue eyes glassier than usual. “He actually helped after Wilbur hurt me a couple days ago. He _never_ did anything like that last time around. Remember the festival?”

_It stays in the pit. **Tubbo in a box what will he do.** It stays in the pit. **Tubbo went off with a bang.** That day was awful. **SO much BLOOD.** It STAYS in the PIT._

Techno clutched his head in one hand. The voices were getting louder, and Techno wasn’t sure he liked what he was hearing.

Tubbo took a step back, also glancing at Techno, but this time with fear. Based off of what his voices were saying, Techno wasn’t sure he could blame him.

Tubbo balled his hands into fists and turned back toward Tommy. “Techno hates me. He would kill me on sight.”

“Techno has never killed you on sight,” Tommy said, scowling, “If he had, you _would_ be dead by now.”

“Yeah, only because he needed his stuff from me!” Tubbo gestured wildly at Techno. “Don’t you remember the horrible things he’s said to you?”

“Which one?” Tommy demanded, “Violence is the universal language or the whole Theseus speech?”

_Oh, that was a good speech. **We nailed that.** And then someone ruined it with a torch. **Violence IS the universal language.**_

“Okay, I’m right here,” Techno said, really not wanting all of his future crimes thrown into his face, “So if you would just let me—”

“The Theseus one,” Tubbo interrupted, ignoring Techno completely, “You know, the one where he literally told you to _die like a hero?!”_

He did _what._

“That was before!” Tommy ran his hands through his hair. “Besides, I deserved that, you don’t understand—”

“You’re right, I _don’t_ understand!” Tubbo shouted, “Why are you trying to defend him? He spawned Withers in L’manberg! He killed me! He’s beaten you to a pulp! He killed Quackity!”

Tommy flung his hands into the air in what seemed to be exasperation. “Oh, L’manberg was already decimated, don’t pretend that Techno did any more damage than Wilbur did.”

“And the rest?” Tubbo demanded.

“I still haven’t forgiven Techno for killing you.” Tommy’s voice was slightly softer at the words. “But the pit was Wilbur’s fault, and Quackity tried to kill _him_ first.”

_Very true. **He deserved it.** Quackity was being a jerk._

“Why are you _defending_ him?” Tubbo sounded mildly hysterical. “After everything—”

“Because _Tubbo,_ after everything, at least he didn’t kick me out of his home when he caught me stealing, unlike someone else in this room.”

The silence was like someone had shattered glass all over the floor.

_Oooooh. **Need some ice for that burn?**_

Tubbo took a couple more steps back. “That’s not fair,” he whispered.

Tommy scoffed. “How? How is that not fair? It’s the truth!”

Tubbo scowled. “It wasn’t that simple, and you know that!”

“Really?” Tommy crossed his arms. “Because from what I gathered from the situation, I rob George’s house, and suddenly I’m exiled by my best friend. Seems pretty simple to me.”

Tubbo did _what._

“You skipped about twenty details!” Tubbo’s voice rose in pitch. “What about the probation we gave you? What about the obsidian walls Dream was building around L’manberg? What about your _idiotic_ behavior at that meeting? What about the discs?”

“Oh, well I guess since _Dream_ told you too, that makes it all better!” Tommy exclaimed, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “Good to know, _buddy_.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Tubbo demanded, “I never _wanted_ to exile you, but it was you or the entire nation!”

“We were going to get Techno to help!” Tommy cried, “We were going to get his help, and you turned around and _exiled_ me!”

“Techno wouldn’t have helped, Tommy!” Tubbo all but screamed, “He would’ve laughed and said he told you so!”

 **_We did tell him so._ ** _That was exactly what we did._

“So, we shouldn’t have tried at all?” Tommy let out a dry laugh. “Why try when we have such a good opportunity to get rid of such a troublemaker, am I right?”

Tubbo gaped. “It wasn’t like that—”

“Then what was it like, Tubbo?!” Tommy shouted, “Because you gave Dream _exactly_ what he wanted in exiling me! What happened to us against Dream, huh?!”

Tubbo took a violent step toward Tommy, who flinched back violently.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have goaded Dream into exiling you in the first place!”

Tommy looked like he had been slapped in the face, his jaw slack. “So, you’re saying this is _my_ fault?!”

“Yeah, it kind of is!”

It was Tommy’s turn to violent step toward Tubbo, visibly shaking. “Why can’t you admit that you did something wrong?!”

“I did what I had to do,” Tubbo with a hard voice, “Unlike you, I put my own personal desires aside for the sake of the _people,_ who Dream would’ve punished for _your_ actions!”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Tommy scoffed, “I may be a screw-up, but that had nothing to do with Dream’s insistence to take me away.”

“Then what was it?”

“He’s _CONTROLING_ us, Tubbo!” Tommy shrieked, a few tears falling from his eyes, “He’s like a freaking puppet master! He wants to tie us up and make us follow his every move!” Tommy let out a sob. “Why do you think he wanted me?! I was the _only_ one he couldn’t control! Do you even know what he _did_ to me?!”

Tommy was sobbing now. Techno wanted to comfort him, but he wasn’t sure how. Besides, Tommy was still glaring at Tubbo so violently that Techno was pretty sure comfort would not be well received.

Tubbo stared at Tommy, opening and closing his mouth like he was trying to breathe in the void.

Techno vaguely realized his ears were ringing. Then he realized that he hadn’t heard Chat for most of that argument. He hadn’t even noticed that he tuned them out.

He was beginning to hear their echoes again, but Techno couldn’t make out what they were saying. He took this as his opportunity to speak.

“Okay,” he said, “Let me get this straight. You two—” He pointed at Tommy and Tubbo. “—are from the future.”

Tubbo nodded mutely, tears running freely down his face. Tommy was rubbing his arm across his eyes, clearly trying to repress his sobbing.

“Yep,” he choked out, “Pretty insane, huh big man?”

Pretty distressing, more like.

“Well, I can confirm I am _not_ from the future,” Techno said, “Let me see if I can’t get the story straight. I’m assuming we won the war, because Wilbur made Tommy president.”

Tubbo and Tommy nodded.

_yep. **sounds about right.** really annoying of him. **there was heck to pay.**_

“Tommy refused, and Tubbo became president instead.”

Once again, affirmation.

“Wilbur blew up the country and died.” Possibly by Philza’s hand. Techno chose not to mention that part. “And I got mad so… I spawned withers?”

“And told Tommy to die like Theseus,” Tubbo added helpfully.

_once again, we nailed that speech._

Horror pooled in Techno’s stomach. He understood why he would be justified in spawning withers, but to wish death upon his little brother? “Right.” He swallowed. “So, after I… did _that,_ Tommy robbed George’s house and got exiled because Dream was mad.”

Tommy flinched. Techno took that as a yes.

_It was pretty funny. **At first**. We did warn him. **Pretty sure Theseus didn’t have nightmares about Lycomedes.** Well, Lycomedes did kill him in the end._

This wasn’t funny at all.

“Dream did unspeakable things, I killed Quackity, and somewhere in there, I killed you—” He pointed to Tubbo. “—and beat Tommy up.”

Both Tommy and Tubbo winced.

“But the last one wasn’t really your fault,” Tommy quickly said, his voice still thick with tears, “Wilbur forced you into that.”

“I was still the one that did it, though,” Techno said, looking Tubbo in the eyes, “So I still need to take at least some responsibility.”

_In all fairness, we were really into it at the time. **SO MUCH BLOOD.** Wilbur was being a jerk. **WE COULD JUST TAKE A KNIFE RIGHT NOW AND KILL HIM** I mean, he is unconscious, it wouldn’t even be hard. **YOU HEAR THAT TUBBO??** TAKE SOME GOSH DARN RESPONSIBILITY SON._

Techno was already missing Chat’s quietness from a few minutes ago.

Tubbo was silent at Techno’s words, but his eyes were directed to the floor, so maybe he had indirectly gotten through to the kid.

Tommy scuffed the ground with his foot and broke the awkward silence. “Well, listen,” he said, wiping away his tears, “You two just go. I’ll be fine here.”

_SERIOUSLY. **ALL THAT AND YOU SERIOUSLY EXPECT US TO LET YOU STAY.** LET HIM STAY IF HE WANTS TO STAY. **NO, YOU ARE LEAVING WITH TUBBO, YOUNG MAN.**_

“Absolutely not,” Tubbo said, his voice cracking, “I’ve already lost you once, I’m not losing you again.”

Tommy scowled. “I didn’t know you cared, Mr. _President,”_ he muttered bitterly.

Tubbo flinched.

“Besides,” Tommy said more boldly, “I don’t want to be within ten feet of Schlatt, future or no. Honestly, Tubbo, you lecture me for forgiving Techno, but you’re willing to forgive Schlatt at a drop of a hat?”

“It’s not like that.”

“How? How is it not like that?”

Techno cleared his throat. “Boys, I think this can wait for later.”

Tommy turned to Techno and opened his mouth, probably to yell at him, but Techno quickly raised an arm to silence him.

Techno could hear the sound of _swords_ clashing together. And _yelling?_ What was going on?

“Do you hear that?” he asked, straining his ears.

_YES. **VERY SUS.** IS IT DREAM?? **WHY WOULD DREAM BE HERE??**_

“What is it?” Tubbo whispered.

“You two stay here,” Techno commanded, “I’ll go check it out.”

He didn’t wait to hear Tommy’s enraged reply. Instead, he dashed out of the kitchen and ran toward the source of the noise.

He entered the main ravine and froze.

It… definitely wasn’t what Techno was expecting. Then again, he wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting.

_DREAM. **BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD.** KILL THE HOMELESS FLORIDA SIMP_

Chat was being pretty narrow minded about the scene that was currently unfolding.

They weren’t wrong. Dream _was_ there. Dream with his stupid porcelain mask and his even more stupidly painted-on smiley face. He was in a relaxed stance, blocking his attackers with obvious ease.

What was far more interesting was the fact that _Quackity_ and _Fundy_ were Dream’s attackers, running at him with enchanted swords raised.

Even from here, it was painfully obvious Dream was playing with them.

_BLOOD, **BLOOD** , BLOOD, **BLOOD** , BLOOD. **Remember when we put a pickaxe through Quackity’s teeth?** Good times, good times. **Let’s do it to Dream this time.** YASSSSSS. **BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD.**_

Well, how could he refuse, really?

Techno pulled out his sword and sprinted toward Dream, his heart beating to the rhythm of his feet hitting the ground. He raised his sword and swiped _down—_

Dream spun around and blocked the blow with a deafening clash, the impact causing Techno’s teeth to slam together.

With a grunt, Dream pushed him back. Bits of ash and dirt sprayed into the air as Techno slid backward, and he shifted on his feet to regain balance.

_LET THE 74 th HUNGERGAMES BEGIN. **MAY THE ODDS EVER BE IN TECHNOBLADE’S FAVOR.** BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD._

“Holy crap!” Techno could hear Fundy shout. Quackity swore loudly in Spanish.

“Get the kids!” Techno shouted, rolling out of the way of Dream’s thrust to his chest

Techno jumped to his feet and feinted for Dream’s head before shifting his strike’s trajectory. His sword whistled toward Dream’s leg instead.

Dream danced out of the way. Shifting to Techno’s left side, he swiped his sword toward Techno’s neck.

Techno spun toward and shuffled back. The sword sliced through a small portion of Techno’s braided hair instead.

_THE HAIR. **Most of it is still intact.** KILL HIM WITH FIRE **. BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD**_

Techno wasn't sure how long he and Dream continued like that, but finally he heard running footsteps approaching. Only two pairs. Where were the others?

He didn’t have much time to think about it as Dream blocked one of Techno's blow with another resounding crash.

“Just Tubbo and Fundy,” Dream huffed, pushing Technoblade back.

“What?” Techno blocked another strike. He countered it with a thrust to Dream’s abdomen. The strike clashed against Dream’s armor.

 **_HA!_ ** _I HOPE THAT HURT, GREEN BOY! **BRUISED RIBS.** CRACKED RIBS. **FRIED RIBS.** Oh, I love fried ribs._

Dream shuffled back. He pulled a regen potion out of his inventory and immediately downed it.

“I only want Tommy,” Dream said. He tilted his head slightly before dashing back toward Techno.

 **_DEATH WOULD BE MERCIFUL TO THE LIKES OF YOU._ ** _BLOOD. **PROTECT THE BOI.** BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD_

Eventually, more footsteps began approaching. Good.

Techno ducked under another strike and leapt back to his feet. With a snarl, he sliced toward Dream’s mask. He wanted to see the man _bleed._

“TECHNO!”

_TOMMY. **YOU FOOL.** THE BOI._

Technoblade froze.

Dream didn’t.

Shifting on his feet, he thrust his sword forward.

Techno heard a shick as the sword entered his abdomen. He stumbled back. His vision started swimming. He stared down at the sword in his stomach.

The agonizing pain followed, but Techno barely blinked at it. This wasn’t his first time being stabbed.

_“TECHNO!”_

Tommy’s unearthly shriek snapped Techno out of his shocked state, and he snapped his head back up toward Dream.

Dream was holding something, probably a potion, and looked ready to throw it at Tommy, who Quackity was currently dragging up the stairs out of Pogtopia.

_TOMMY. **TOMMY.** TOMMY RUN. **TOMMY RUN.** PROTECT, **PROTECT,** PROTECT, **PROTECT**_

Adrenaline filled Techno’s veins. Disregarding the sword in his stomach completely, Techno rammed himself into Dream. Dream let out a startled cry and let go of the potion he was holding. It crashed into the ground with a loud shatter.

Immediately, Techno’s limbs became heavy. Techno tried to regain his balance, but it was as if he were moving underwater. Each one of his movements were at a snail’s pace.

Tommy was still screaming. “TECHNO! Quackity, let go of me!”

_SLOWNESS. **TECHNOSLOW.** DRINK MILK. **TOMMY.** TOMMY RUN. **THANK GOD FOR QUACKITY, LOOK AT HIM DRAGGING THE BOY AWAY.**_

In seconds, Quackity and Tommy were out of sight. Good.

Dream slowly reached into his inventory. Probably for milk. That was actually a good idea.

Techno slowly reached for the milk in his inventory, and even more slowly put it to his lips and began to drink the creamy liquid.

And then everything became fast again. Techno stumbled forward, suddenly aware of the sword still sitting comfortably in his gut. It’s a miracle he hadn’t bled out yet.

Quickly, Techno pulled the sword out and ate a gapple in his inventory. He let out a small sigh as the pain mostly receded.

_LOOK OUT. **GREEN TELLETUBBY INCOMING.**_

Techno barely had time to turn as Dream smashed into him, slamming Techno into the ground. Techno’s head burst like a migraine, and a metallic taste filled his mouth.

“You screwed up this time, Techno,” Dream said dangerously, pressing the edge of his blade against Techno’s neck.

“Well, you know,” Techno grunted, spitting out some blood, “you can’t win them all.”

Dream let out a frustrated growl. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

_WE’RE TOO AMAZING. **WE’VE CHANGED OUR WAYS.** IT’LL GIVE TOMMY MORE MISERY TO KNOW THAT WE WERE BEING TORTURED. **YOU WANT TO BE TORTURED??** I DON’T WANT TO DIE. **KILL US, I DARE YOU.** Do it._

“It’d be kind of boring,” Techno grunted, “To simply kill your rival. I don’t know, doesn’t exactly seem to be your style.” Techno gave the tiniest shrug of his shoulders, smirking. “But if you want to, go for it, it’s not like this is my last life.”

Dream was silent, tilting his head as if he were thinking the entire thing over. “Fine,” he conceded.

Technoblade smiled in spite of himself.

The kids were safe. _Tommy_ was safe.

Dream flipped the sword around in his hand, slamming the pommel of his sword against Techno’s head.

Everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> I think we're having a Quackity POV next chapter, but don't hold me to that. 
> 
> _KILL THE HOMELESS FLORIDA SIMP_ was recommended to me in the comments. The moral of the story is, if you have quotes you want to see from the chat, feel free to say so in the comments. 
> 
> I hate fight scenes. 
> 
> Sorry for any errors! I hope you enjoyed (apart from the cliffhanger lol). <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity's more confused than Techno, which is really saying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: stabbing, child abuse, manipulation, violence, you know the drill

Quackity liked to believe that he could handle change well.

But when Schlatt started acting _really_ strange, even he did a double take.

It was mostly good things, at first. For instance, when Schlatt walked in on Quackity and Tubbo surrounded by empty beer bottles and shattered glass, Quackity was sure that they were both screwed. At the _very_ least, he expected Tubbo to receive a slap on the face.

Instead, Schlatt _smiled_ and said, “That’s alright, kid. It was probably for the best anyway.”

And then he walked away. Just walked away. No anger. No yelling, unless you counted his command to pick up the broken glass on the floor. He just… _smiled._ It was like a completely different person had possessed Schlatt’s body.

But Quackity wasn’t about to complain. This was _good_ news.

Still, Quackity kept an eye and ear out for any suspicious behavior. Come to think of it, Tubbo emptying out all of those bottles was pretty out of character for him.

And then there was all that TNT that they unearthed from L’manberg. The sheer amount of TNT was ridiculous. Like, what was Wilbur thinking?

Quackity couldn’t stop the suspicion that rose up inside of him when Tubbo started talking downright _bitterly_ about Wilbur and Tommy’s exile. He was directly speaking out against Schlatt’s decrees, what else was Quackity supposed to think?

But it turned out that Schlatt was letting Tommy back into Manberg, which… made sense, actually. As much as Quackity wanted to say that Tommy was dangerous, chaotic, and far too loyal to Wilbur, the fact remained that Tommy was still a kid. And Quackity would be lying if he said that he wasn’t a bit chaotic when he was Tommy’s age too.

And if Wilbur wanted to blow up an entire country, Quackity could see the importance of getting Tommy away from him as soon as possible.

So Quackity accepted the fact that Schlatt and Tubbo had suffered from a strange form of growth of character very suddenly and moved on from the fact. Schlatt had changed for the better. Tubbo had just lost some of his childhood innocence, and that particular change was pretty doomed to happen from the start.

But even with accepting this strange turn of events, Quackity couldn’t turn a blind eye to the fact that Schlatt shut himself in his office all day yesterday, and then was about to do it again _today._ From what Quackity had seen from Schlatt the day before, the man was very clearly not feeling well.

Quackity decided he should probably check up on him, just to make sure he wasn’t slowly dying.

So, Quackity knocked on the wooden doors to Schlatt’s office, getting ready to find out what’s wrong.

Withdraw. Withdraw turned out to be what was wrong.

Listen, Quackity appreciated that Schlatt was trying to go sober; he really did. But it was at that moment that Quackity decided that Schlatt was an absolute _idiot_ when it came to his health. Why hadn’t he immediately checked into a hospital the minute he started suffering symptoms?

When Schlatt had his first seizure, Quackity thought he was going to have a heart attack. When all of this was said and done, Quackity was _definitely_ going to deck Schlatt in the face for giving him gray hairs early. Honestly, why hadn’t he checked himself into a hospital?

And then Wilbur had to call, because _of course_ he just _had_ to call right as Schlatt started having seizures.

Quackity took the communicator from Schlatt after he collapsed a second time, taking control of the conversation with Wilbur. Fundy bent over, trying to make sure if Schlatt was alright.

“Wilbur,” Quackity said tersely, interrupting whatever monologue he was saying.

There was a millisecond’s worth of pause. “Where’s Schlatt? I was speaking to him.”

“It’s none of your beeswax where Schlatt is, because right now you are speaking to _me_ , and you are going to tell me _right now_ what the hell is going on here.”

“Fine,” Wilbur spat, “If you _must_ know, I have captured Tubbo, and I am going to kill him, but I won’t tell you when.” His voice became condescending. “I’m sure you’ll stage a rescue in time.”

When Tubbo said that Wilbur had gone absolutely insane, Quackity did not expect _this._ Hadn’t Wilbur and Tubbo fought in a literal war together? Sure, they might be on opposite sides now, but surely some of that old camaraderie would prevent him from cold-blooded murder.

It seemed that Quackity thought too highly of Wilbur, which was funny since he hadn’t thought all that highly of him to begin with.

The fact that Wilbur was quick and willing to kill a sixteen-year-old made Quackity’s blood _boil._

And Quackity had _no idea_ how much time they had before Wilbur slit a knife across Tubbo’s throat.

“Screw you,” Quackity snarled, doing his best to infuse as much venom as possible into his voice, “You’re going to kill a sixteen-year-old? Do you realize how _sick_ that is?”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t do the same thing to Tommy if he stepped one foot in the wrong direction,” Wilbur said, sounding aggravated.

Kill Tommy? Why the hell would they do that? Because he was exiled? That was the height of extremity.

“Of course, we wouldn’t—”

“Then what _would_ you do?!”

“I don’t know,” Quackity said sarcastically, “prison?!”

Wilbur’s voice began bordering onto a shout. “Prison, like when you shot an arrow through my heart? Prison, like when you’re literally planning on luring my brother into a trap and killing him in cold blood?!”

Quackity furrowed his brow in confusion. What trap?

Out of the corner of his eye, Quackity saw Schlatt hurry to his feet and reach for the communicator. Quackity stepped to the side.

“Screw you,” he growled again before slamming the ‘end-call’ button down with a furious click.

They had to drag Schlatt to the hospital.

As they walked to the hospital, Schlatt spoke, sounding more focused than he had their entire trip.

“Listen, whatever you do, listen to me now Quackity.”

Schlatt sounded so broken and desperate that Quackity couldn’t do anything _but_ listen. “You remember that bunker?”

Quackity had a feeling he knew where this was going. “Yeah?”

“That tunnel leads straight to Pogtopia, where Wilbur is,” Schlatt said, his words becoming more rushed, “I’ve sealed some of it off, because I didn’t want Tubbo doing anything reckless, but clearly it didn’t work.”

They entered the hospital building.

“So, you want me to go through the tunnel and rescue Tubbo?” Quackity asked, just to clarify.

He glanced over at Fundy, who was explaining Schlatt’s situation to a nurse.

“Yes,” Schlatt moaned, “I can’t help him right now, but I can’t let him die. Save Tommy too while you’re at it.”

A day ago, Quackity would have questioned if Tommy needed saving from his own brother. Now, he didn’t doubt it at all.

“Okay, yeah, we’ll do that,” Quackity said.

As soon as they made sure Schlatt was well situated and had a security guard at the hospital, Quackity and Fundy went straight to the bunker, drinking potions of swiftness to get there faster.

It had only maybe been twenty minutes since they ended the phone call with Wilbur. The hospital had only been about ten minutes away from the White House, and Tubbo’s bunker another five, with Quackity and Fundy quickly grabbing some gear on their way. Still, every moment they wasted to mine the sealed off tunnel was agonizing. Tubbo could die at any minute, and they were still trying to get through this damn tunnel.

But finally, _finally,_ they reached the end of the tunnel. Finally, they were in Pogtopia. Finally, they could get the jump on Wilbur and rescue the teens.

Except the universe apparently hated Quackity.

Because none other than _Dream_ himself was standing in the middle of Pogtopia, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.

“Well, this was unexpected,” Dream said smoothly, “What brings you boys here?”

Fundy was already pulling out his sword, a furious glare on his face. “Get out of the way, Dream,” he snarled.

Dream hummed. “You know, I would,” he said, “Except you haven’t exactly told me what you’re doing here, so for all I know, you’re going to hurt someone.”

“The opposite,” Quackity said, reaching for his own sword, “We’re going to rescue some children. So, if you would just step aside, that would be greatly appreciated.”

Dream straightened, pulling out his weapon. “Well, in that case,” Dream said, taking a step closer to Quackity and Fundy, “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

“Try and stop us,” Quackity growled.

Dream only let out a small laugh as both Quackity and Fundy raised their swords and ran at him. Dream effortlessly dodged and blocked both of their strikes.

Quackity’s heart sunk. This was a losing battle.

Quackity gritted his teeth, clutching onto the handle of his sword tightly. It didn’t matter if it was a losing battle. Schlatt needed him to rescue Tubbo and Tommy. He couldn’t let Schlatt down, not while Schlatt was fighting for his life in a hospital room.

From the way Fundy huffed and shifted himself into position, he felt much the same way.

And then Dream suddenly spun around, a loud clash practically shaking the ravine as Dream pushed back none other than _Technoblade._

Quackity swore loudly, mostly from the shock. What the hell was even going on anymore?

“Holy crap!” Fundy shouted, watching as Techno rolled out of the way of Dream’s sword. Quackity wasn’t sure if it was from shock, or from the sheer impressiveness of the fight that was unfolding right in front of them. Dream and Technoblade moved like their swords were literally a part of their bodies, moving so quickly that Quackity had hardly any idea of what was going on.

Now, Quackity _knew_ that they would’ve had no hope of beating Dream.

“Get the kids!” Technoblade shouted suddenly.

Quackity suddenly remembered why he was here in the first place.

Fundy led the way this time, and Quackity didn’t even think to doubt him. At times like these, Fundy’s enhanced senses were going to be a life saver in finding Tommy and Tubbo in time, especially considering that they _hadn’t seen Wilbur yet._

Fundy skidded to a stop in front of a door, and Quackity immediately burst inside, not even giving a crap about consequences anymore.

And then he immediately froze in horror, icy dread going down his spine.

Because Wilbur was standing, swaying like he was drunk, and pointing a sword at Tommy, who was standing directly in front of Tubbo.

At the sound of Quackity bursting into the room, however, Wilbur snapped his head around. When his eyes landed on Quackity and Fundy, his expression was a hard glare.

“What is with today?!” he shouted, “First, Techno! Then, _you,_ Tommy!” Quackity didn’t miss the way Tommy flinched at the statement. “And now you two come in.”

Wilbur’s gaze became _deadly_ when he saw Fundy standing close behind Quackity.

“And my traitor of a son is here too,” Wilbur snarled, “I suppose this is just a happy reunion.”

Quackity stomach churned as Wilbur smiled suddenly.

Fundy pushed passed Quackity, looking imploringly at his father. “Dad, please—’

“You don’t get to call me that anymore!” Wilbur shouted, “You don’t get to call me that after you sided with _him.”_

“Schlatt’s respected me more than you ever had!” Fundy shouted, “And besides, I’m pretty sure _he_ would never actively try to kill children!”

“He’s trying to kill Tommy!” Wilbur shrieked, “He’s been trying to kill Tommy this entire time!”

Quackity knew that was completely false. There had been no plans for killing Tommy, and even if there were, Tubbo would _certainly not_ have anything to do with it.

Speaking of Tommy and Tubbo, Tommy was still standing in front of Tubbo, who looked about ready to grab a sword and stab Wilbur himself.

Quackity figured that there was no time like present to grab the kids and go while Fundy had Wilbur properly distracted.

“Nobody is going to kill Tommy! We just want to stop _you_ from killing Tubbo!”

“Like I’m supposed to believe that after you _left_ me!”

Quackity quickly went over to Tommy and Tubbo, grabbing them by the wrist. Both children flinched _violently,_ and Quackity quickly let go.

“We should get out of here while we have a chance,” Quackity whispered.

Tommy nodded. “Good thinking, Big Q,” he said, “Tubbo, now’s your chance.”

Tubbo spun around, glaring at Tommy. “I am _not_ leaving you.”

Quackity massaged his forehead; he felt a headache coming on. “Both of you are coming with me, and we are leaving _now.”_

He realized too late that Fundy and Wilbur had stopped shouting. He didn’t realize until the tip of a sword was resting against Quackity’s neck.

“You’re not taking them anywhere,” Wilbur whispered, his voice sounding like poison.

“Wilbur,” Tommy said, his voice cracking.

“Fundy,” Quackity said, ignoring the panic that was slowly building up inside of him, “I want you to take Tubbo and _go.”_

Protests immediately met Quackity’s command.

“You think I’m just going to leave you here with Wilbur?!” Fundy exclaimed.

“I’m not leaving without Tommy,” Tubbo said firmly.

“Tubbo, _please_ listen to Quackity and go,” Tommy begged, “ _Please,_ I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll be fine.”

“Well you heard him, Tubbo,” Wilbur said, sounding like he couldn’t decide if he should be gleeful or irritated, “Leave, go, scram.” His voice hardened as he returned his gaze to Fundy. “And I never want to see you again.”

Quackity wanted nothing more than to sock Wilbur in the face for that comment, but he was currently being held at sword point, so he had to settle himself for a glare.

“I have the situation under control,” Quackity promised Fundy, “Just take Tubbo and _go.”_

For a fraction of a moment, Fundy still stock still, as if processing the command. Then, he nodded, grabbed Tubbo, and sprinted out of the room, ignoring Tubbo’s startled cry.

That left Quackity, Wilbur, and Tommy in the kitchen.

“Well, this certainly was not how I planned the day,” Wilbur said. He smiled at Quackity like he had won an interesting prize. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.” His face flickered, and his next words were a low growl. “And Technoblade. “

And Quackity witnessed something he never thought he would witness.

Tommy—TommyInnit, the kid who would yell and swear with no regard for other people’s feelings, the kid who was reckless and stubborn and sometimes dangerous, _that_ Tommy—got to his knees, clinging to the bottom of Wilbur’s jacket.

And he started _begging._

“Wilbur, Wilbur, please,” the boy babbled, as if his life depended on it. _Or Quackity’s._ “Wilbur, let him go, he hasn’t done anything to you, he hasn’t hurt me, just let him go, I won’t let him take me away, I’m not going anywhere, remember, I promised I wasn’t going anywhere, and I don’t plan on going anywhere, but please, please, let him go, please don’t kill him.”

Either it was opposite personality week and nobody bothered to tell him, or something had gone horribly _, horribly_ wrong.

Wilbur’s face twisted into a different smile, less sadistic and more… tender. But there was an underlining expression underneath the tenderness that Quackity couldn’t place, couldn’t explain. All he knew was that it was very _wrong._

“Oh, Toms,” Wilbur cooed, like he was talking to a baby, “You know I want to believe you, but I can’t trust your emotions not to get the better of you.”

“I promise, I won’t do anything,” Tommy said, staring imploringly up at Wilbur, “As long as you don’t kill anyone, I’ll do whatever you want, go wherever you want me to go. Just, _please_.”

 _This_ time, Wilbur’s smile was triumphant.

To Quackity’s utter astonishment, Wilbur actually took the sword off of his neck. Tommy sagged in relief.

Quackity didn’t wait to see what would happen next. Instead, he surged forward, slamming Wilbur against the wall with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Wilbur was actually pretty light, all things considered. Wilbur’s sword fell out of his hand and clattered onto the floor as Quackity raised his fist and _smashed_ it into his face.

There was a crack, and Quackity was pretty sure he broke Wilbur’s nose. Quackity smiled.

Tommy was screaming. Quackity ignored him.

As Wilbur was doubled over, clutching onto his bleeding nose, Quackity grabbed the sword off of the ground and rammed the butt of it against Wilbur’s head. Wilbur collapsed in a heap.

“What are you doing?!” Tommy was screaming, tugging at Quackity’s arm, “You’re going to kill him! He’s only got one life left, genius! If he dies, it's game over!”

Tommy was definitely angry amidst all that hysteria, much to Quackity’s relief. The Tommy he knew wasn’t completely gone, at least.

“He’s not dead,” Quackity said, “Though I’m not sure it wouldn’t be better for everyone if he was.”

Tommy looked stricken. “You can’t kill him.” The words came out in a rush. “You can’t kill him.”

Were those tears forming in Tommy’s eyes?

Quackity was not prepared for this.

“I’m not going to kill him,” Quackity said, “Okay? But I am going to get you out of here.”

Tommy scowled. “No. I’m not leaving. Just leave without me.”

Quackity let out an exasperated moan. “Why are you so set on staying here? He’s clearly not stable to be around!”

“He’s my brother!” Tommy shouted, “And I need to be there for him, or else he’s just going to end up dead!”

Quackity grabbed Tommy by the shoulders but let go after the teen flinched again. “Listen to me carefully, Tommy. If Wilbur were in his right mind, would he want you to stay with this version of him?”

Tommy stiffened, like he was lost in a memory. Quackity waited, desperately hoping that Tommy would see sense.

Tommy crossed his arms. “Fine,” he muttered, “Fine, let’s just go.”

Oh, thank _Notch._

They had to head for the stairs. The tunnel would be too easy for Dream and Wilbur to follow them down. It would be easier for Dream and Wilbur to lose their trail in the expansive outdoors.

Quackity led Tommy back down the hallway, both of them running for dear life. When they reached the ravine, Quackity could still hear the fighting sounds. Technoblade and Dream were apparently _still_ at it.

Quackity didn’t have time to be impressed however, because while Quackity had started running around the fight and toward the stone stairs, Tommy was no longer following behind him.

“TECHNO!”

Quackity spun around. Tommy was standing stock still, staring at the fight unfolding right in front of him.

It was at that moment that Quackity realized that Tommy was a complete _idiot_ when it came to his own safety. And in this case, Techno’s.

Because Technoblade froze and Dream stabbed him. _Stabbed_ him. _Stabbed_ the Blade.

Quackity didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, because Tommy was still standing there, and Quackity was pretty sure Dream wasn’t going to allow him to escape.

So, as Tommy shrieked for Technoblade, Quackity sprinted back toward him and grabbed him firmly by the arm, dragging him up the damn stairs.

They wouldn’t have made it if Dream had managed to throw that potion. But Technoblade came in the clutch again, as he _slammed_ himself into Dream with a sword still _lodged_ in his _stomach_.

Instead of Tommy and Quackity getting hit with the potion of slowness, eliminating all hope of escape, Dream and Techno were hit with the potion of slowness, and suddenly, Tommy and Quackity’s chances got twenty-times better.

So Quackity continued dragging Tommy as the teen screamed and screeched for Technoblade.

There was already a hole mined into the dirt wall at the top of the stairs. Clearly, Fundy had the sense to go out this way too.

Tommy was still shouting furiously at Quackity, demanding that they turn back and help Technoblade.

“Tommy, unless you want Dream and Wilbur to find you, you need to run straight to Manberg without me dragging you,” Quackity said, interrupting Tommy’s furious shouting.

Tommy shut his mouth and glared. “I hate you,” he muttered.

“That’s fine,” Quackity said impatiently, “Let’s run.”

And apparently miracles did happen, because for the second time that day, Tommy listened to Quackity and _ran._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potion effects only typically last for eight minutes at best, just saying. 
> 
> I'm sorry if this chapter is not as good or tidy as the others, but I really wanted to get it out today, so I was mildly rushing. 
> 
> I'm not a hundred percent sure who's pov the next chapter is going to be. I _really_ want to write Dream and Wilbur interludes, but logically, they'd fit better farther into the story. 
> 
> I edited a couple of phrases in the last chapter to imply that the fight scene was longer so that these conversations could actually happen. 
> 
> Anyway, that's probably enough notes, I hope you enjoyed, please be nice in the comments, and have a great rest of your day/evening. <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy is sad. Phil gets news. Technoblade wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attacks, concussions, injury, broken nose, depression

When Tommy first reached L’manberg (Tommy refused to call it Manberg), Quackity escorted him to a secure room in the White House, trying to hide him from the gaping citizens.

Tommy hadn’t left that room since. Nobody could get him to leave.

And it wasn’t for lack of trying on Tubbo, Quackity, and Fundy’s part. Every day, Tubbo and Fundy visited, talking to him from outside the door. Tommy was just grateful that nobody barged in.

The conversations were pretty one sided, though.

“To think that Da-Wilbur would lose it like that,” Fundy had said on the first day of Tommy’s solitude, “I can’t imagine what it was like to live with him. I’m sorry.”

Tommy didn’t reply. Tommy never replied.

Tubbo visited a little after Fundy did. Based off of the way the door would move, Tommy had a feeling that Tubbo was leaning against it.

“Tommy…” Tubbo said, his voice sounding slightly thick, “I, uh, thank you. Thank you, for still trying to protect me.”

Tommy almost replied to that, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure he would know what to say anyway.

Quackity would knock on the door three times a day with food. Tommy would open it, give Quackity his dirty dishes from before, and take the new food from him. No words were exchanged between them, but Tommy had a feeling that Quackity would start making objections if Tommy didn’t eat everything on the plate.

“What are you even doing in there?” Fundy asked on the second day.

Like always, Tommy didn’t say anything. Fundy would think him pretty pathetic if he knew anyway.

Because Tommy didn’t do anything in his small room. He stared out the window sometimes; he slept a lot; he curled up in a corner and stewed in his thoughts.

Tommy shouldn’t have left. Tommy shouldn’t have left Wilbur. Now Wilbur had no one. Tommy was the only one Wilbur had left, and now Wilbur had _no one_.

Not only that, but Technoblade was in the hands of _Dream,_ all because of Tommy’s cowardice. Tommy could’ve helped; Tommy could’ve saved Techno. Now, Techno had a gruesome stab wound and was at Dream’s mercy.

And at Dream’s mercy, Techno could be hurt, and manipulated, and abused, and traumatized. And those were things that Techno should never be because he was _Techno._ He was the _Blade._ The Blade wasn’t like Tommy; _Techno_ wasn’t like Tommy. He wasn’t a coward, or an ignorant little child, or a weakling. Techno was strong, and intelligent, and brave.

But could anyone stay that way with Dream whispering pretty little lies every single day, slowly degrading someone into a shadow of what they were?

Sometimes when Tommy thought like that, he couldn’t breathe, and then he couldn’t think, but at least no one was touching him, at least no one was demanding Tommy listen to them. But what if they were? What if Tommy was too stupid to hear?

And when he finally started breathing again, Tommy would end up sleeping even more than usual. But then he would wake up with images of Dream and Wilbur burned across his mind, and Tommy wouldn’t sleep at all.

The festival had been canceled for obvious reasons. That didn’t stop the populace from theorizing. Rumors from ‘Tubbo and Tommy are Schlatt’s secret love children’ and ‘Wilbur is planning a full-scale terrorist attack’ ran rampant across the streets.

In a different time, Tommy might have found the first one hilarious. Or disgusting. One of the two.

Now, Tommy couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t bring himself to care about _anything,_ really.

Tommy was afraid of his new nonfeeling. He was afraid of becoming so distant from everything and everyone that he stopped making any significant bonds.

But at the same time, hadn’t significant bonds gotten Tommy to where he was in the first place?

On Tommy’s fourth day of self-imposed solitude, Fundy was the one to bring back news.

“Schlatt’s back from the hospital,” he said, sounding _happy_ about it, the traitor, “We’re really glad to have him—”

Fundy was interrupted by Tommy bursting through the door, immediately veering in the direction of the president’s office.

“Wait, Tommy! He’s a little weak right now!”

Tommy ignored the startled shouts of his nephew as he dashed down the hall. Employees let out surprised cries as Tommy pushed past them, but Tommy didn’t even look in their direction.

Because for the first time in four days, Tommy was _feeling_ something.

When he reached the office doors, he burst through them with a thundering boom.

Tubbo and Quackity were standing next to each other near Schlatt’s desk. They were staring at Tommy in shock, but Tommy didn’t care about any of that.

All he cared about was the _ram_ sitting in the chair behind the president’s desk, having the gall to look at him in the eyes.

Tommy let out an enraged roar and charged. He wanted to destroy Schlatt. He wanted to ruin him. Tommy wanted to remind him of all of his crimes, of everything he ruined for everyone else. Without him, Wilbur might actually still be alive, actually sane, actually _his_ Wilbur. Without Schlatt, Tommy might’ve never been put into exile, Tubbo might never have lost his second life, and everyone might’ve been _happy._

Just as Tommy’s fist was inches away from Schlatt’s nose, Quackity and Tubbo grabbed Tommy and pulled him back.

“Woah, wait a minute,” Quackity exclaimed, holding a struggling Tommy in place, “Calm down!”

“ _No_!” Tommy shouted, _screamed_ , his voice cracking violently from days of disuse, “ _No,_ I will _not_ calm down! This is all _his fault!”_

“Tommy,” Tubbo said quietly, having the idiocy to actually look sad.

“ _NO,_ Tubbo!” Tommy pushed against Quackity and Tubbo, trying to get to that monster, trying to smash his face in, trying to avenge his brother’s death…

“Quackity, Tubbo,” Schlatt said calmly. He said it _calmly_ , like Tommy wasn’t about to attempt murder. “It’s okay, let the kid have his punch.”

Both Quackity and Tubbo looked back at Schlatt in shock, but Tommy didn’t care, because their grips had loosened, and Tommy was now running straight toward Schlatt, his heart pounding. He reached over the desk, grabbing the color of Schlatt’s suit, and allowing his fist to connect with the man’s nose with a resounding _CRACK._

“I’m _not_ a _kid_!” Tommy shouted, taking vindictive pleasure in the blood rushing out of Schlatt’s nose.

“Okay,” Schlatt said calmly, and why was he still so _calm?_ Why wasn’t he swearing, why wasn’t he fighting, why wasn’t he at least showing remorse? Or anger even? He was just so _damn_ calm.

It was infuriating.

Tommy reached back again, ready to punch again, but hands were grabbing him, hands were pulling him back, too many hands were touching him, he didn’t want to be touched, it made his skin crawl, he couldn’t think—

“ _It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy.” “I’ll protect you, Toms.” “We’re friends, right?” “It’s okay, Wilbur’s here.” “Everybody hates you, but I don’t.” “You can’t trust anyone except me.”_

“Tommy? Tommy!”

Tommy became vaguely aware of himself, but someone was still touching him. Was it Wilbur? God, it was probably Wilbur. Wilbur hated seeing Tommy like this. It worried him. Tommy hated making Wilbur worried.

“Wil, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m trying to snap out of it, I’m trying, I just _can’t—”_

“It’s not Wilbur, kid,” a new voice said grimly, “Let go of him, he clearly doesn’t enjoy it.”

The hands left, and Tommy relaxed marginally.

“Alright, kid,” the new voice said, “Can you breathe with me?”

Tommy gasped. “Can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Tommy knew that voice. It was Tubbo. Tubbo was his friend, but he betrayed him, or had he? Tommy didn’t know; he couldn’t think straight. “Tommy, _please.”_

Tommy took a wheezing breath, and it burned.

“Great job,” the new voice, _Schlatt,_ said, “Now, do it again, but more slowly.”

Tommy tried, _god_ he tried, but it was so damn _hard_.

“You’re doing great,” someone, Quackity probably, lied. Because Tommy _wasn’t_ doing great; he was taking a pathetically long amount of time to even _breathe,_ Wilbur probably would’ve slapped him by now.

“Just even breaths,” Schlatt said, “Do it with me, in and out.”

 _In_ and _out. In_ and _out._

Slowly, pathetically slowly, Tommy filled his lungs with more and more air. He became suddenly aware the he had squeezed his eyes shut at some point, that he was sitting on the cold ground, that salty tears were soaking his face, and that he was curled up in a little ball.

He was acting like a scared child. _Pathetic._

Tommy opened his eyes, blinking at the sudden light. Schlatt, Quackity, and Tubbo were sitting around him, clearly working together to get him to calm down. Schlatt’s nose was still bent out of shape, surrounded by dried blood. Tubbo looked like he had been crying, and Quackity looked mildly horrified.

Tommy hated it, so he pulled himself to his feet quickly, causing the three of them to look up at him with what he assumed was general astonishment.

While Tommy tried to smooth down his shirt, Tubbo jumped to his feet. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Tommy said coldly, not looking Tubbo in the eyes and instead glaring at Schlatt, who was slowly heaving himself to his feet with Quackity hovering over him. “Let’s just pretend that never happened.”

Quackity gaped at him, “You can’t be—”

“Forget it,” Tommy said more forcefully, clenching his hands into tight fists, “I’m fine, so don’t worry about it.”

“Tommy—”

“Just forget it, Tubbo!” Tommy shouted, “You didn’t care before, so why do you now?!”

Tubbo blinked, looking hurt. Tommy tried to ignore the guilt already piercing his heart. Damnit, he was being selfish again, wasn’t he?

“I thought you hated me,” Tubbo said quietly, staring down at the floor, “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Tommy snorted derisively. “You would’ve been better than _Dream.”_

Tommy clamped his hand over his mouth, immediately snapping his attention toward Schlatt and Quackity. Quackity looked confused? Perplexed? Shocked? Tommy didn’t have any idea anymore.

The expression Schlatt wore was way worse. It was _pitying._

“What’re you looking at?” Tommy snapped, lowering his hand back down at inhuman speed, “Because I don’t need any of your pity.”

Schlatt laughed, and Tommy almost punched him in the gut before realizing that his laugh didn’t sound as amused as before. It sounded… kind of like Wilbur’s laughter near the end, right before he died. Not deranged… just, tired.

_Wilbur was up at the podium, and he just laughed tiredly before giving presidency up to Tommy._

_Tommy wondered if he laughed like that when Phil killed him._

And a horrible thought flashed across Tommy’s mind. “Were you—” Tommy swallowed. “—were you there?”

Because how else would Schlatt know that he _should_ be pitying Tommy? Tommy supposed Tubbo could have told him.

Yeah, that had to be it, Tubbo had to have told him. Schlatt was dead when Tommy went into exile, and he didn’t come back as a ghost. There was no way he could’ve—

“Yeah, kid,” Schlatt sighed, massaging his forehead like Phil would after a particularly long day, “Yeah, I was there.”

No. _No._

Tommy stumbled back a few steps, not even trying to hide the pure terror that he felt.

Because he was _there_ , Schlatt had been _there_ , Schlatt had seen Tommy get abused, and manipulated, and pulled along like a _dog._

Tommy’s fear hardened into anger. “Were you spying on me or some stupid crap like that? Because that’s a pretty crappy thing to do.”

Schlatt leaned back, giving Tommy a long look. “Yeah, I guess you could say that I was spying on you, but it’s not like I had very many good options.”

Tommy glared. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Schlatt grinned. “Ghostbur had amnesia; I was not visible to the senses. Trust me, kid, I would’ve decked Dream about a thousand times over if I could’ve.”

Tommy crossed his arms. “I’m not a kid,” he growled, staring at the floor, “And I don’t want your lousy protection.”

Quackity coughed loudly, and everybody’s heads snapped over to him.

“I’m sorry,” Quackity said, not sounding sorry at all, “But can somebody please tell me what the hell’s going on?”

Schlatt laughed again. “Sorry, Quackity,” he muttered, “I forgot you were there.”

“Um… should we explain the situation to him?” Tubbo asked unsurely.

Quackity jumped and pointed at Tubbo. “Aha! So, there _is_ something going on. I knew it!” He gave them all suspicious looks. “So, are you going to tell me what it is, or do you want me to start guessing?”

“Well, I suppose now we _have_ to tell him,” Tommy grumbled.

“You’re not going to believe us,” Schlatt said.

Quackity crossed his arms. “Try me, because I’ve seen a lot of things I wouldn’t believe five days ago.”

Tommy didn’t doubt it. The sheer number of times Tommy had _humiliated_ himself in front of Quackity is mortifying, and then he saw Technoblade get stabbed, which was basically unheard of.

“We’re from the future,” Tubbo blurted out.

The way Quackity’s jaw dropped was actually pretty funny. If Tommy weren’t so angry at the world, he probably would’ve laughed.

“Oh,” Quackity said, staring blankly at the three of them, “You’re right, Schlatt, I find that pretty hard to believe.”

Quackity gave Tommy a long stare, and Tommy forced himself not to shift uncomfortably. He instead satisfied himself with returning the stare with a burning glare.

“But, you know, it explains a lot,” Quackity said, looking at Schlatt and nodding, “Better than my ‘Opposite Week’ theory.”

Tommy snorted. “Your what?”

“You guys were all acting really out of character, okay?!” Quackity exclaimed defensively.

Schlatt grimaced for some stupid reason. Don’t ask Tommy; he wasn’t a certified therapist.

“Fair,” Schlatt sighed, “Anyway, Tommy, I have a few things I want to talk to you about.”

Tommy turned around, fixing his glare on Schlatt. Anger still burned his veins whenever he looked at Schlatt’s stupid face, but for some reason, Schlatt’s crooked nose and bloody face filled him with less satisfaction than before.

Maybe it was because Schlatt saw Tommy’s exile, saw exactly what that hell was like for Tommy. Maybe it was because Schlatt was acting nothing like the Schlatt Tommy knew.

“What?” Tommy asked curtly.

“You probably already know that your exile has been officially revoked,” Schlatt said, looking Tommy calmly in the eyes, “You’re a citizen of Manberg—”

“L’manberg,” Tommy cut in.

Tommy resisted the urge to flinch right after he said it. If Schlatt chose to hurt him, then he would prove he was just like the rest, and Tommy could have peace knowing that Schlatt was the monster Tommy always knew him to be.

But Schlatt didn’t reach over to hit him. Instead, he tilted his head contemplatively, like he was actually considering what Tommy said.

“You know, come to think of it, maybe we should change the name back,” Schlatt murmured, “I’ll have to think on that.” He returned his attention to Tommy. “Anyway, you’re a citizen of this country again, and you’re welcome to stay in the White House as long as you’d like.”

Tommy opened his mouth, ready to say that he didn’t need any of Schlatt’s pity gifts, and he would rather die than sleeping in the same building as him. But he stopped himself.

Because as much as Tommy hated to admit it, he felt much safer here than he did outside, especially with both Wilbur and _Dream_ on the loose.

Tommy satisfied himself with a tiny nod.

“I want to call Phil,” Tommy blurted out, not even thinking before he said it. Well, he said it now, and Tommy wasn’t taking it back. He had wanted to call Phil from the beginning. If Schlatt could claim that he changed, he would let Tommy call his father.

Schlatt blinked, looking surprised. Tommy continued staring at him with a cold glare.

“Really?” Schlatt asked, “I mean, you don’t need to ask for my permission, you can call whoever you want, but—”

“He can’t, actually,” Tubbo said quietly, “Wilbur took his communicator. We never got it back.”

Schlatt swore. “Alright then,” he muttered, writing something down on a card, “I’ll get you a new one. Do you have Phil’s number? Can you borrow someone else’s communicator?”

 _Damnit,_ why couldn’t Schlatt just be mean? Why couldn’t he yell; why couldn’t he scream; why couldn’t he just prove that he was everything Tommy knew he could be?

Because this version of Schlatt was weirdly nice, and nice was out of character, and out of character meant unpredictable, and unpredictable was dangerous.

Tommy kept his voice closed off. “I don’t remember Phil’s number.” He cursed himself for his forgetfulness.

“I have it,” Tubbo said quietly, “Phil’s number, I mean. He gave it to me after I snuck into Tommy’s house one to many times.”

Tommy remembered that. When Tommy was about twelve, Tubbo would constantly sneak into Tommy’s room through the window. Eventually, Phil gave Tubbo his number so that he would call for permission to visit instead of scaling the house.

“Can I—” The words stuck on Tommy’s throat, and Tommy wanted to scream in frustration.

Tubbo wordlessly pulled his communicator out of his pocket, handing it to Tommy. Tommy took it, nodding gratefully.

“I still hate you,” Tommy informed Schlatt as he stepped out of the room. He closed the door behind him before Schlatt could reply.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Tommy quickly found Phil’s contact on Tubbo’s communicator. With trembling fingers, he pressed call.

Phil was enjoying a morning cup of coffee when his communicator started ringing violently.

Phil calmly pulled it out of his pocket, glancing it. He started. Tubbo’s name flashed brightly on the screen.

Why the hell was Tubbo calling him? Tubbo hadn’t called in ages.

Immediately, Phil’s mind ran through the worst possibilities. Tommy was dead. Wilbur was dead. Techno was dead. Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur were _all_ dead.

Phil hadn’t heard from Wilbur since he said that Techno had joined him and Tommy in their ravine. What was it called again? Pogtopia? Ever since then, Phil had a creeping sense of anxiety that something was going to go horribly wrong, but his sons were old enough to fight their own wars. They didn’t need Phil helicoptering them.

But Tubbo calling him? That never happened, and Phil found himself assuming the worst.

Phil hurriedly answered the call.

“Tubbo, mate? What’s up?”

“…Phil,” whispered the voice on the line. The voice who was decidedly _not_ Tubbo.

Oh god, was _Tubbo_ dead?

“Who is this?” Phil asked, “Where’s Tubbo?”

“Phil, it’s me,” the voice said, “Um, Tommy. Ah… Tubbo’s fine.”

Oh. Oh, _Tommy._

Phil knew his son, and Phil knew that his son should not sound so soft spoken, should not sound so hesitant, should not sound so _broken._

“Tommy, mate, what happened?” Phil asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice, “Why do you have Tubbo’s communicator?”

A laugh. “Um, a lot happened. But, um, Wil-Wilbur took my communicator.”

Shock settled in Phil’s system. Wilbur took away Tommy’s communicator? Why?

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tommy said quickly, _too_ quickly, “It’s not a big deal; he was just trying to protect me, in his own screwed up way.”

“Tommy…” Phil breathed out, horror replacing shock, “Why-what do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tommy said, “Well, some of it matters. Wilbur needs help. Like, a lot of help.”

“Help with fighting?” Phil asked, having a feeling that wasn’t the right answer.

“No.” Tommy paused, and Phil wished he could at least see his sons face and get a clue on what was going on in his mind. “Um, he’s in a bad way, Phil; he kept, keeps? I don’t even know anymore. Anyway, he keeps raving about how everyone is a traitor, and he’s incredibly paranoid, and he wants to blow up L’manberg, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Wait a moment,” Phil said, getting to his feet, “Blow up L’manberg? Didn’t he create L’manberg?”

“Phil.” Tommy’s voice became suddenly panicked. “Phil, you can’t kill Wilbur.”

Phil froze.

“Why would I-why would I kill Wilbur?” Phil whispered.

Why would Tommy even think he would do that? Phil _loved_ Wilbur. Wilbur was his son; Phil wouldn’t dream of killing him, even if Wilbur handed him the sword himself.

“I don’t know.” Tommy sounded like he was about to cry. “Just, don’t do it, okay? I don’t care if he begs you to, or if he destroys everything, or if he purposefully tries to get me killed because…”

Phil could hear a choked sob on the other side of the line.

“Tommy?” Phil asked, “Tommy, what happened? Has Wil tried to kill you?”

“No!” Tommy exclaimed, “No, Wil would never.”

“Then why did you—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Tommy’s voice was suddenly lacking in inflection now, like he was purposefully masking his every emotion from Phil. “Just, I think you can help Wil, maybe remind him that you love him or something sappy like that, and maybe he’ll think twice about this whole villain thing.”

Phil needed more answers. He needed to know more. What was Wilbur doing? Why did Tommy sound so _unlike_ Tommy? What was going on?

“Also, Techno’s been captured,” Tommy said, “By Wil and Dream, but mostly Dream, I think. Still, it would be nice if you could help us save him, because it’s really my fault he’s there in the first place.”

Techno was captured? Since when were Techno and Wil on opposing sides? Weren’t they allies?

And to think that Techno had messaged him just a few days ago, saying that everything was going fine. When had things gone so horribly wrong?

Phil knew that Tommy wasn’t about to give Phil any of the answers he craved, so instead he said, “Okay, I’m on my way.”

Did Phil just hear a sigh of _relief_ on the other end of the line? Did Tommy seriously think Phil wouldn’t come after hearing all that?

“Thanks.”

And with that, Tommy hung up, leaving Phil alone.

Techno woke up to the sound of voices.

_WE LIVE. **TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES.** BUT HE DOES LOSE, APPARENTLY. **LOL, LOSERBLADE.** TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES._

What happened?

Techno let out a groan and became suddenly aware of the uncomfortable gag in his mouth. Then, he became aware of the pulsing pain he felt _everywhere._ His head and stomach were especially painful.

Right, the fight with Dream. Tommy escaping.

Technoblade catalogued the situation as best as he could. His wrists and ankles seemed to be both tied together uncomfortably, the rope irritating his skin. He was definitely lying in some form of a small, dark room. There was an iron door across from him, but no button in sight.

Great. Just… fantastic.

_Oof, we’re never going to live this down. **YOU HAD ONE JOB.** HE DIDN’T DIE. **HE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO GET STABBED EITHER!** OUR REPUTATION IS AT STAKE HERE._

“Guys,” Techno moaned. His voice was incomprehensible through the gag, but he knew Chat would get the general idea. “Do me a favor and shut up.”

_**THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR LOSING.** I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LOST. **WELL, HE DID SAVE TOMMY, SO THERE’S THAT.** THAT’S A GOOD THING?? **I CAN’T BELIEVE THERE ARE STILL TOMMY HATERS IN THIS CHAT.**_

Techno couldn’t even summon the energy to reply. Why was he so tired?

_Concussion. **DREAM SMACKED YOU REAL GOOD, GENIUS.**_

Oh, right, concussion. That would make sense.

There was a loud bang, and Techno looked up to see Dream and Wilbur striding through the doorway. Wilbur looked furious; Dream’s lips were set in a neutral calm.

“Well, well, look who’s awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, i suppose the best way to solve a POV debate is to do three POVs in one chapter, leaving you with the longest chapter to date. 
> 
> I'm playing the Phil Watson's B- parenting card. He's not great, but he's trying. 
> 
> Tommy's having a bad time. So is Tubbo. I should probably give him a POV soon. 
> 
> The mentioned rumors and press from the citizens are inspired by the [Schlatt is Tubbo's father ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980382) series by VioletViolentEye. I would check it out! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, have a wonderful day, please be nice in the comments. :)
> 
> (Also, if anyone were to borrow elements from this story for their own fics, I would really appreciate it if you could just give me a shout-out in the author's notes. <3)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Don’t be the next Schlatt.” “You can’t become the next Schlatt.” Schlatt, Schlatt, Schlatt_
> 
> And for a moment, Tubbo wanted to punch Schlatt in the face as hard as Tommy had, harder even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/referenced child abuse, past death, manipulation, guilt

It was the sixteenth when Tommy barged into Schlatt’s office and broke his nose. All things considered, not the most eventful sixteenth in the world, which was a nice change of pace.

And Tubbo had to admit, he couldn’t exactly blame Tommy for the action. Not when he still marveled at the smoothness of his skin where burn scars should be. Not when he flinched away from celebratory fireworks. Not when those damned words followed him everywhere he went during presidency.

_“Don’t be the next Schlatt.” “You can’t become the next Schlatt.” Schlatt, Schlatt, Schlatt_

And for a moment, Tubbo wanted to punch Schlatt in the face as hard as Tommy had, _harder_ even.

But he didn’t. Schlatt was trying, Tubbo _knew_ Schlatt was trying. It wouldn’t be fair of him to be angry about that, even if he still woke up with nightmares, even if he studied his skull in the mirror, looking for horns, even if Schlatt had ruined _everything—_

Well, Schlatt hadn’t ruined everything. Dream certainly at least helped things along nicely, and that was an understatement.

 _“Do you even know what he did to me?!”_ Tommy had asked, tears running down his face.

No, Tubbo didn’t know, and he hated it. What had Dream done to Tommy to change his friend into a shadow of his former self? Tubbo had already seen what _Wilbur_ had done, but how much of it was Wilbur, and how much of it was Dream?

Tubbo needed answers.

So, while Tommy had stepped out with Tubbo’s communicator, Tubbo turned to Schlatt, forcing back the habitual fear that came with looking Schlatt in the eyes.

“What did Dream do to him?” Tubbo asked. Well, more like demanded; Tubbo accidentally used his ‘president’ voice.

Schlatt sighed, but it sounded almost like a groan. “I think that’s something you’ll have to ask Tommy yourself, kiddo.”

Tubbo didn’t scowl, but he _did_ feel irritated. “I’m not a kid,” he said shortly.

Kids didn’t run countries.

“Okay, Tubbo,” Schlatt said. He gave Tubbo a look over. “Do you want to punch me too?”

Tubbo stared at Schlatt’s crooked nose and the dry blood surrounding it. Tubbo clenched his fist even more tightly. It would be just _so easy_ to punch Schlatt and give him a black eye. All Tubbo had to do was raise his fist and aim.

But… violence never solved anything. And even if it was aimed at one of the worst men Tubbo had ever known, Tubbo wasn’t sure that even a simple punch wouldn’t make him feel sick to his stomach.

Tubbo took a deep breath and unclenched his fist. Already, the action felt liberating.

“I don’t want to,” Tubbo said quietly. He glanced up at Quackity, half-expecting him to call Tubbo a weak coward.

Instead, Quackity looked _relieved_. “Thank god, I won’t have to reset more than a broken nose.”

Schlatt laughed before leveling a serious expression back toward Tubbo. Tubbo flinched in spite of himself. Schlatt winced.

“Sorry,” he said, “But seriously, if you want to punch me, I can take it. I saw you when Tommy was yelling; you were definitely tempted to let him loose. It’s not like I wouldn’t deserve it.”

Tubbo looked down at his shoes, his stupidly shiny, black shoes. “I just…” Tubbo hesitated. “I just…he’s not wrong.”

“I know,” Schlatt said calmly, “And I’m sorry for everything I did.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it,” Tubbo said, perhaps a little more harshly than he intended.

But it was true. _Sorry_ didn’t fix the fact that Schlatt had ordered Tubbo to be killed in public. _Sorry_ didn’t change the fact that if it weren’t for Schlatt, Wilbur might not have gone insane. _Sorry_ didn’t change the fact that if Wilbur hadn’t gone insane, Tubbo might not have been president, and Tommy might’ve never been exiled for a second time.

So, yeah, _sorry_ didn’t exactly fix it.

“You’re right,” Schlatt said, “And I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to do better this time around. But, Tubbo, I don’t expect you to forgive me.” Under his breath, he added, “I know I never will.”

Tubbo stared, unsure of what to say. What was he supposed to say to that? Tommy would probably make some scathing remark about how he never planned on forgiving Schlatt. That was all well and good for Tommy, but Tubbo _wasn’t_ Tommy. And while Tubbo knew that he _hadn’t_ forgiven Schlatt, a small part of him believed that one day he could.

Besides, being bitter never did anyone good. It was Tubbo (and Quackity’s) bitterness toward Technoblade that caused Technoblade to pull himself out of retirement, and Tubbo didn’t even _want_ to imagine what would have happened if Tubbo hadn’t been pulled backwards in time and Technoblade had continued his warpath.

Heck, L’manberg might’ve been destroyed all over again, and then they would be forced to rebuild. _Again._

Before Tubbo could even attempt to put these thoughts into words, however, Tommy reentered the room. His face was neutral, and that was almost more worrying than anything Tubbo had seen from Tommy so far.

Because even while Wilbur abused Tommy, at least Tommy was showing emotion. Because that’s all Tommy ever did. He _emoted._

But now, there was nothing. No emotion, just… a coldly neutral gaze.

Tommy walked up to Tubbo, dropping his communicator into Tubbo’s hands. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Tubbo swallowed, and the question that had been pushing against Tubbo’s mind for days now rose up again.

What did Dream do? What did _Tubbo_ do?

Well, Tubbo knew the answer to that last part, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Besides, _Dream_ was the one who caused all this. Tubbo was just another pawn in his game.

 _“I was still the one that did it, though,”_ Techno had said, looking like he was staring into Tubbo’s soul, _“So I still need to take at least some responsibility.”_

The thought of Technoblade only made Tubbo feel sicker, so he pushed it all aside, instead focusing on Tommy.

“How-how did the talk with Phil go?” he asked, shoving the communicator back into his pocket.

“Fine,” Tommy said, turning to Schlatt, “Phil is on his way. He’s going to help Wilbur. _Not_ kill him.”

Tubbo felt a pang in his heart as he remembered Tommy’s guttural scream as Phil put a sword through Wilbur’s chest.

“He’s also coming to help us rescue Technoblade,” Tommy continued. His voice became slightly more bitter. “But that’s no surprise.”

No. Phil had always seemed to favor Technoblade over Wilbur and Tommy.

“Hold up,” Schlatt said. He raised his hand to stop Tommy from continuing, even though Tubbo was pretty sure Tommy was done regardless. “There is no _us_ in Technoblade’s rescue. You—”

“You’re not going to do anything?” Tommy demanded, his neutral expression giving way to some anger, “Technoblade saved all of our lives, and you’re not even going to try to save him?”

“That’s not what he said,” Quackity said quickly.

Schlatt sighed. “You didn’t let me finish. You two—” Schlatt pointed at both Tommy and Tubbo. “—are not participating in any rescue missions. We’ll handle it.”

If possible, Tommy’s face became even colder than before. “Let me guess, the _adults_ can handle this.” Tommy’s voice took on a mocking tone. “Quiet, Tommy, the _adults_ are speaking.”

Schlatt’s face darkened. Tubbo felt like he was missing something here.

“This is not remotely the same thing,” Schlatt said, “It’s really the opposite. I refuse to risk you being in a vulnerable situation with two of your abusers.”

“Oh, but it’s okay for Tubbo to be working in the same building as one of _his_?”

Schlatt flinched. Quackity frowned, glancing at Schlatt.

“ _Tommy!”_ Tubbo hissed, horrified, “That was out of line.” Schlatt was trying his best; it wasn’t fair to throw his past in his face like that.

Tommy _flinched_ at the words, but he didn’t look away from Schlatt. “Come on, we know we were both thinking it.”

Tubbo wasn’t exactly sure who the ‘ _we’_ was referring to. Tommy and Tubbo? Tommy and Schlatt? All three of them?

Schlatt’s face contorted to a scowl. Tommy’s eyes shone triumphantly in the same way they did when he thought he won an argument.

But the scowl on Schlatt’s face melted away as soon as it came, and Tommy’s face shifted into one of surprise before becoming completely closed off again.

“Quackity, Tubbo,” Schlatt said, his voice calm, “Why don’t you go out and do something for a bit? I want to speak to Tommy alone.”

Tommy stiffened, and anxiety pooled into Tubbo’s gut. Schlatt wouldn’t hurt Tommy. Tubbo knew this. Schlatt had changed.

Right?

“Schlatt…” Quackity began, looking like he was ready to burst.

Schlatt gave Quackity a meaningful look. “I’ll explain everything to you when you get back. I promise.”

“Not everything,” Tommy said, his voice mostly firm.

“Not everything,” Schlatt agreed, “Everything that isn’t someone else’s personal business.”

Tommy didn’t relax. Tubbo wondered if Tommy trusted Schlatt’s word at all. Probably not.

Schlatt turned to Tubbo, giving him a small smile. “Don’t worry,” he said, “We’ll just talk. If it’s something more, you’ll know, and I give you permission to kill me. It’s not like I don’t have lives to spare.”

“I’d get arrested for that,” Tubbo said, his voice coming out as a strange mix of flatness, sarcasm, and amusement.

Damnit, even Tubbo’s own emotions had to be a strange swirl of complicatedness.

“Alright,” Quackity said, gently grabbing Tubbo by the shoulders and leading him out of the room.

“Don’t worry about me, Tubbo,” Tommy said, his voice closed off again, “It’ll be fine.”

Tubbo knew Tommy was lying. But he was pretty sure Schlatt wasn’t.

Quackity led Tubbo into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind them. “It’ll be fine,” Quackity said, sounding much more assured than Tommy did, “Come on, amigo, let’s go buy some ice cream or something.”

Schlatt had started the day feeling pretty refreshed.

It probably had something to do with the fact that he was finally discharged from the hospital and no longer had alcohol in his system. Maybe it was just because it felt good not to have a migraine.

But all good things came to an end, because Schlatt had a feeling that he had a very un-alcohol related migraine coming on.

Because standing before him was a very angry, very _scared_ teenager.

They say that anger is a secondhand emotion, that anger was always birthed by some other emotion, whether that be fear, or grief, or who the heck even knows.

Schlatt wasn’t entirely sure where his anger came from, back when he was the monster Tommy (and probably Tubbo) believed him to be. It was probably fear, fear of losing the power he had gained, fear of losing control. Or maybe he was just too lost in his drinking. It didn’t exactly matter now.

What mattered was the fact that Tommy’s anger stemmed from two very obvious sources. Grief and fear.

Tommy’s anger toward Schlatt was definitely a mix of the two, but Schlatt suspected that it was primarily the latter. His ranting about Wilbur made that all too clear.

And Tommy wasn’t wrong. If Schlatt hadn’t exiled Wilbur, maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe Wilbur wouldn’t have gotten lost in his own head, maybe events wouldn’t have played out as they did. _Tubbo_ certainly wouldn’t have lost his second life.

 _Tubbo._ Schlatt’s head hurt whenever he thought about the kid too hard. Schlatt inflicted unspeakable pain toward him, both in life and death, and somehow, the kid was still willing to entertain the idea of forgiveness. As a matter of fact, Schlatt wouldn’t have been surprised if Tubbo had simply _forgotten_ he was supposed to be angry with Schlatt if it weren’t for Tommy’s outburst.

Speaking of Tommy…

Tommy clearly did not trust Schlatt. At all. And Schlatt didn’t blame him. Heck, Schlatt would have been more concerned if Tommy decided to wholeheartedly trust Schlatt instantly. Because while that might be a very _Tubbo_ thing to do, it would have been disproportionately out of character for Tommy.

Still, Schlatt would _prefer_ Tommy not think that Schlatt had any malicious plans in store for him.

“So,” Schlatt said, finally breaking the long silence, “you don’t trust me.”

Tommy snorted. “Obviously.”

Tommy wasn’t glaring. His face was passive, but Schlatt couldn’t miss the look Tommy’s eyes. Schlatt was a businessman first and foremost, and you could learn a lot by looking into a man’s eyes.

Hatred and fear filled Tommy’s eyes, both so potent that Schlatt had no idea which outweighed the other.

“Listen.” Schlatt sighed for probably the fiftieth time that morning. “I’m not going to hurt you. I only want to help make things right.”

This time, dark amusement crossed over Tommy’s face. “If you think that’s going to work on me, you’re stupider than I thought, old man.”

Schlatt, as luck would have it, was _not_ stupid, and he knew exactly what Tommy was thinking.

 _“I’m your friend,”_ Dream had said, blowing up a teenager’s only possessions like it was some sick game. And Schlatt was stuck, unable to do anything, only able to watch and scream noiselessly at that masked _monster_.

Never again. He wasn’t going to sit at the sidelines. Not this time.

“We don’t have to be friends,” Schlatt said, “You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to do anything for me. The only thing I’m not letting you do is stepping anywhere near Dream and Wilbur, and that’s—”

Schlatt cut himself short. Tommy wouldn’t appreciate the ‘ _for your own protection’_ line, regardless of how true it was.

Tommy’s eyes widened, but they hardened again soon enough. “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

“You’re right,” Schlatt said, “I don’t expect you to believe that.”

And he didn’t. Tommy had been lied to by trusted adults too many times. Schlatt was very pointedly an _untrusted_ adult in Tommy’s eyes, which meant that the kid had literally _no reason_ to trust Schlatt. At all.

Neither did Tubbo, but Schlatt would address that problem later.

“Why’d you say it then?” Tommy challenged, “If it was so obviously a lie?”

“Oh, I wasn’t lying,” Schlatt said, keeping his voice as calm and casual as possible, “But I don’t expect you to believe that I’m telling the truth.”

Tommy didn’t say anything to that, but Schlatt noticed that his fists were tightening. He hoped the kid wouldn’t accidentally break skin.

“Anyway, let’s return to the issue at hand,” Schlatt said, “You want to help rescue Technoblade.”

“He’s my brother, genius. Of course I want to rescue him,” Tommy said, “Aren’t you presidents supposed to be smart?”

Schlatt didn’t allow Tommy to get under his skin. He had already made a fatal error in scowling earlier. Schlatt hadn’t been angry at Tommy; he had been angry at Dream and Wilbur. Even thinking about them now made Schlatt want to break something.

But scowling was a stupid thing to do, especially when Tommy had looked so _victorious_ after Schlatt had done it, like Tommy had been proven right, like he had _wanted_ to get yelled at, like he expected to get smacked around.

“I understand that you want to help save your brother,” Schlatt said, “But you have to understand that my answer is still ‘no’.”

Tommy glared, which was refreshing compared to the completely closed-off stare the kid had been trying to maintain. “Why?” he growled, “I’m capable, I can handle myself. It’s my fault he’s in his hands in the first place, if it weren’t for me, none of this would be happening.”

“Five minutes ago, you were blaming me for everything that was happening,” Schlatt said, “I can promise you that _none_ of this is your fault.”

“He wanted _me,_ not Techno!” Tommy shouted, slamming his hands loudly against the desk, “Techno was protecting _me!”_

“Exactly!” Schlatt exclaimed, “Think about it, Tommy. Dream wants _you._ If you go in to rescue Technoblade with us, _you_ will be Dream’s number one priority.”

Tommy’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before returning to that _damn_ emotionless stare. “That’s a good thing then,” Tommy said, “I can distract him, and get distract both of them. I can be _useful.”_

 _“Useless,”_ Dream had sneered to Tommy one night while Schlatt only watched, “ _No wonder nobody misses you.”_

“ _Hell_ no,” Schlatt said, standing suddenly. Tommy flinched, and Schlatt sighed, sitting back down. “You are not going back to either of them,” Schlatt said firmly, “I am not letting you go through any of that again.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Tommy muttered.

Schlatt let out a startled laugh. “Not that bad?” he asked, “Not that _bad?_ Kid, I literally watched Dream make you throw your stuff into a hole to be destroyed, lie to you, and beat you. What about that is _not that bad_?”

“At least I know what to expect from him!” Tommy shouted, “At least I know what I’m in for! You don’t make any sense! You used to be the bad guy, but now you’re pretending to be good, and, and… Why were you even watching me anyway? That was my own business, you had nothing to do with it!”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry for being _concerned,”_ Schlatt said sarcastically, “You were alone with Dream, you expect me to just ignore that?”

Tommy’s face became dark. “Everybody else did,” he muttered. He blanched before spinning around suddenly. “I’m leaving.”

Schlatt didn’t try to stop him.

Technoblade wanted to find his nearest sword and stab both of the men standing in the doorway, but that was pretty impossible at the moment.

 **_I’LL STAB ‘EM._ ** _WITH WHAT GENIUS?? **WITH MY PURE FURY AND WRATH.** THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS. **WAIT, WAIT, I HAVE SOME FURY AND WRATH, MAYBE WE CAN MAKE A NUKE.** WHY ARE YOU MAKING A NUKE?? **I FEEL THE ANSWER SHOULD BE OBVIOUS, MY DEAR SIR.**_

It was way too early for this.

“Well, hello, gentlemen,” Techno said casually, which was pretty difficult, considering that there was a gag muffling all sound coming out of his mouth and he was tied up on the floor.

Apparently, Wilbur was not one for delicacies (or he just didn’t hear), because he let out a guttural yell and grabbed Technoblade by the scruff of his shirt.

“You _traitor!”_ Wilbur shrieked, spraying spittle all over Techno’s face as he shook Technoblade violently, “You let them take him! You let them take my Tommy!”

_Oh boy, explosive British boy is at it again. **WE’RE PROBABLY GOING TO DIE.** IF WE DIE, WE DIE WITH HONOR. **FOOL, TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES.**_

Technoblade would’ve liked to have said a lot of things, but once again, the gag was kind of preventing him from explaining to Wilbur that Tommy didn’t actually _belong_ to him.

Dream put a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, causing Wilbur to drop Techno onto the cold stone floor with a painful thump.

_**RUDE.** HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE CONCUSSION?_

“Remember, Wilbur,” Dream said, “We have a plan to get Tommy back.”

Techno did _not_ like the sound of that.

_OOPS HE DID IT AGAIN. **MANIPULATIVE JERK.** IF WE KILL HIM CAN WE GET ICE CREAM?_

Wilbur let out a deep breath. “Right.” He looked down at Techno with a deranged smile. “You hear that, traitor? I have a plan. And you know what the best part is?”

Techno raised his eyebrows in place of saying ‘what’.

Wilbur crouched down and pulled a knife out of his trench coat. “It makes you rue the day you ever decided to betray _me.”_

Well, that just sounded fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of filler, but it was necessary to push the plot forward, so... 
> 
> Next chapter is actually going to be kind of fluffy on Tommy and Tubbo's end, and just terrible on Techno's end, so... I hope you look forward to that. 
> 
> Um, I can't think of anything to say, so please be nice in the comments, and I hope you enjoyed! <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo makes a serious realization. Tommy makes a discovery. Dream makes a threat. Phil makes a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: manipulation, blood, amputation, panic attack, knives, implied/referenced child abuse, fainting

Tubbo wasn’t used to this.

As he and Quackity sat outside, eating ice cream, Tubbo basked in the absurdity of it all. When was the last time he had just sat like this? When was the last time Tubbo was allowed to just silently exist? When was the last time expectations hadn’t pressed down on him like a huge burden on his back?

Even when he had hung out with Niki nearly a week ago, Tubbo hadn’t felt this… free. He had been too preoccupied on Tommy at the time; Tubbo was too worried about what he needed to do to help him.

But there was almost none of that right now. Tommy was safe; there was nothing he needed to get done. Tubbo was just allowed to relax.

Well… that wasn’t precisely true.

It was funny how the minute one thought about being relaxed, their anxiety comes back full force.

“What’s on your mind?” Quackity asked.

Tubbo fidgeted with his sunglasses, wishing he could take them off, but they were his only bastion of defense against nosy citizens.

Tubbo took a deep breath; it wouldn’t hurt to explain things to Quackity, would it? “I exiled him.”

“Huh?”

Tubbo stared down at his chocolate ice cream, watching the edges melt. It was a good thing it was October, or the entire thing would probably be sludge by now. Tubbo took a depressed lick, not finding as much joy in the rich taste as he might’ve who-knows-how-many months ago.

“Tommy,” Tubbo continued, forcing the name out, “I exiled him.”

Quackity blanched. “What? When? How? Isn’t he your best friend?”

Tubbo let out a weary laugh. “Really not letting up on those questions, Big Q.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Quackity said, clearly sarcastic, “But someone tells me that they exile their best friend in what I assume is the future, and I kinda feel the need to know more.”

“Fair,” Tubbo said, “Maybe don’t talk about the future stuff so loudly, though. We don’t need people spreading ridiculous rumors about that.”

Tubbo brushed his fingers against the thin scar on his throat, where Wilbur had dug his dagger into Tubbo’s neck. Tubbo repressed a shudder. That had been terrifying. Tubbo didn’t want to imagine how terrifying Wilbur might be if he knew that Tommy, Tubbo, and Schlatt were from the future.

And Tommy kind of had a point earlier, what’s to say that more people were from the future? What if someone against them was from the future? They had gotten lucky with Schlatt deciding to be reformed, but Tubbo couldn’t imagine what would happen if _Dream_ had come back.

Tubbo shook himself mentally. Dream hadn’t come back. They would’ve known by now.

Right?

“Okay,” Quackity was saying, “I won’t scream about the time travel. But seriously, what happened?”

Tubbo sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Yeah, and something tells me that you’ve never properly told it before.” Quackity took another bite out of his ice cream, and Tubbo felt a small shiver go down his spine. Who bit ice cream? “Come on, it’ll probably good for you to tell me.”

“I feel like you’re trying to trick me into telling you things,” Tubbo asked, unable to hide the suspicion in his tone, “Isn’t Schlatt going to explain everything to you later?”

Quackity shrugged. “True, true,” he said, “But I am an impatient man, and would love to hear more now.”

Tubbo took a bite out of his ice cream cone with a soft crunch. “Alright,” Tubbo said, “You’re right, it probably will be good for me. I guess.”

“Yes!” Quackity sounded like a child who had just gotten exactly what they wanted for their birthday. “Alright, tell me all of the details.”

“I’m not telling you all the details.” Tubbo gave Quackity a half-hearted glare. “I’ll just tell you the sum of it all.”

Quackity nodded. “Fair enough, my man, fair enough.”

Tubbo felt like Quackity was feeling far too enthused for someone who was about to learn exactly how Tubbo exiled his best friend.

“Well, after Schlatt…, Wilbur made me president, and Tommy was my VP. And it worked out for the most part at first, but then Tommy decided to rob and burn George’s house down.”

Quackity whistled.

“Yep,” Tubbo agreed, “Basically, Dream got mad, said that he would build these huge walls around L’manberg if I didn’t either give him Tommy’s disc or exile Tommy himself. We tried to reason with him, but Tommy made things worse, and Dream demanded Tommy be exiled or else L’manberg will become a perpetual prison. So, I…”

“So, you exiled him,” Quackity finished.

Tubbo nodded.

Quackity hummed thoughtfully. “Not gonna lie man, it was a pretty terrible thing to do as a friend, but I’m not sure you had any other option when you’re in a position of power. I think the main problem with the situation is that it implies that you had no real control at all, and that Dream was calling most of the shots.”

Tubbo laughed humorlessly. “Nah, that was mostly you.”

“What?”

Tubbo flushed, forcing himself not to curl in on himself. “Nothing.”

Quackity looked like he wanted to argue, but he let out a loud sigh instead. “Yeah, I’ve probably pushed you enough today.” Quackity polished off his ice cream before glancing down at Tubbo’s. “You gonna finish that helado?”

Tubbo looked at his ice cream, which was dripping down the edges of his cone, making his hands uncomfortably sticky. He wasn’t sure if he felt hungry anymore.

“Probably not,” Tubbo said. He held his ice cream up to Quackity. “Do you want it?”

Quackity grimaced. “Nah, I think I’m good. Just throw it away over there.”

Tubbo stood up from the table and walked over to the rubbish bin. As he dropped the half-eaten ice cream into the bin, Tubbo wondered if this was what Tommy felt like.

Thrown away. Cast aside. Unwanted.

Tubbo felt like he had been hit by a mine-cart.

H e had always known that exiling Tommy was the wrong thing to do as a friend, that he should’ve searched for some other alternative, but he had stood by the fact that there _was no other alternative._ It was Tommy or the nation, and as president, there was only one he could choose.

And Tubbo knew that was true. He _knew_ that as president, he made the right decision.

But Tommy didn’t care about that. Tommy probably knew as well as Tubbo that Tommy being exiled was the only alternative to the entire country being trapped. But that didn’t matter to Tommy.

Because the simple fact of the matter was that Tommy had been thrown away by a friend, by _Tubbo._

_“I was still the one that did it, though, so I still need to take at least some responsibility._

And Tubbo had never apologized. Tubbo had never owned up to the fact that no matter how necessary it was, no matter how much Dream was the cause, _Tubbo_ was still the one who exiled Tommy. Tubbo was still the one who made that impossible choice. Tubbo was the one who condemned Tommy to whatever torment Dream subjected him to in exile.

“Are you good there?”

Tubbo jumped, spinning around to see Quackity standing in front of him, looking concerned.

“Huh?” Tubbo asked.

“You were staring at the trash can kind of strangely,” Quackity said, gesturing at the rubbish bin, “Are you alright? Did it insult you or something?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Tubbo said, forcing himself to release the tension from his muscles, “I just realized something.”

“Yeah?” Quackity said, “And what’s that?”

Tubbo took a deep breath. “I need to apologize to Tommy.”

Tommy’s solitude was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

At first, Tommy didn’t want to get up from his bed. Yelling at Schlatt had taken a lot out of him, and almost as soon as he stormed out of the room the second time, Tommy just wanted to sleep. Except he didn’t want to sleep, because sleep meant nightmares. So, he just continued lying there, hoping that whoever had come by would just go away.

“Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice echoed slightly from behind the door, “Can I talk to you?”

Tommy rolled over so that he was actually facing the door, actually considering getting up and speaking to his friend.

But he was _so tired._ Besides, did Tommy even _want_ to speak to Tubbo? Tommy wasn’t so sure. Tubbo had blamed _Tommy_ for getting exiled, like it was _his_ fault that Dream wanted control over everyone.

And that had hurt.

But, in a way, it was his fault. Maybe if Tommy hadn’t been so stupid, maybe if Tommy hadn’t been so brash, Tubbo might not have been forced to make the decision to exile Tommy in the first place.

That sounded like Dream talking.

But was Dream wrong?

“Tommy, can I talk to you?” Tubbo asked, “It’s important.”

Tommy practically jumped out of his bed when he heard a _bark_ on the other side of his door. Why the heck would there be barking?

Pure curiosity was the only thing that got Tommy to pull himself out of bed and open the door.

Tubbo was standing in front of Tommy, wearing his normal green shirt, which was refreshing from the suit and tie that Tommy saw him in earlier that day. Standing next to Tubbo was a _dog,_ a golden retriever from the looks of it.

“Why do you have a dog?” Tommy asked, staring at the happy-looking creature. Tommy wished he could find it within himself to be that happy.

“Well, um, she’s an apology present,” Tubbo stuttered.

Tommy’s head snapped toward Tubbo, who looked like he was about to cry. Had Tommy heard correctly?

“What?” Tommy asked, wondering if this was some strange dream.

Tubbo took a deep breath. “I’m, um, I’m here to apologize,” he said, his voice getting stronger as he spoke, “So here it goes: I’m sorry, Tommy.”

“Sorry for what?”

The answer was pretty obvious, but Tommy wanted to make sure he was hearing correctly. Besides, Tubbo had a point before; there wasn’t much Tubbo could’ve done. It was Tommy or Wilbur’s country.

“I’m sorry for exiling you,” Tubbo said. Tommy saw a tear roll down his cheek. “It may have been what was best for the nation, but it was a pretty horrible thing to do to you, especially since you were—are—my best friend, and I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but—”

“Tubbo,” Tommy interrupted, “Shut up.”

Tubbo flinched, and Tommy felt a stab of guilt.

“I just meant,” Tommy began, trying to find the words, “I just meant… you don’t have to keep apologizing, man. I suppose I owe you an apology as well.”

Tubbo blinked. Was he surprised? Tommy wasn’t sure why he would be. Sure, Tommy wasn’t one for apologies, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give them when necessary.

Tommy took a deep breath, swallowing back his pride. “I’m sorry for… calling you all those horrible things before, and I’m sorry for forcing Dream’s hand.”

Tubbo shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize for that, I deserved—”

“You were just trying to lead Wilbur’s nation to the best of your ability,” Tommy interrupted, “You didn’t deserve me calling you a monster for it.”

Tubbo frowned. “Well, you at least don’t have to apologize for forcing Dream’s hand, he was practically looking for an excuse to exile you. _I’m_ sorry for blaming you for that.”

Tommy sighed. “I’m sorry for accusing you of becoming the next Schlatt.”

“And I’m sorry for telling you not to become the next Wilbur.”

Tommy winced at the mention of his brother’s name, but he held out his hand for a shake.

Tubbo took it, and Tommy squeezed his hand, almost afraid of letting go.

“Listen, Tubbo,” Tommy swallowed, “Exile was really… rough for me, and I’m not sure how much of my resentment toward you was my own or planted by Dream, but I—” Tommy took a deep breath. “I think I can forgive you. If you can manage to forgive me, that is.”

Tubbo visibly sagged, squeezing Tommy’s hand almost hard as Tommy was squeezing Tubbo’s. “I’m not sure you ever did anything wrong, but I’ll forgive you anyway if it makes you feel better.”

Tommy nodded. “It does,” he said shortly, “Let’s shake on it.”

Their hands already firmly grasped together, they did a single shake, almost as if they were making a solemn business deal. A part of Tommy wanted to rush into Tubbo’s arms, to hug him and never let go. Another part of Tommy was afraid of what would happen if he did.

Tommy was the first to let go of Tubbo, and Tubbo was quick to follow suit. Once again, Tommy found himself glancing back down at the dog sitting obediently next to Tubbo. It was strange to think that there had been a witness to that entire affair, even if it was just a dog.

“So, what’s with the dog?” Tommy asked again, even though Tubbo had already provided an answer.

“She’s for you,” Tubbo explained, “I, uh, wanted to show you that I was truly sorry, so I went to this place where they train dogs for, uh, therapy and whatnot. She’s only six months old, and she hasn’t finished her training by a long shot, but I figured, ‘why not,’ you know?”

Tommy nodded staring at the dog in a new light. It sounded suspiciously like a pity gift, but considering that Tubbo had labeled the dog as an apology gift earlier, maybe it wasn’t. And besides, if Tubbo had gone all this way to give Tommy a dog, it would be pretty rude to simply refuse. Not to mention, she did look pretty soft.

Tommy wasn’t sure why Tubbo went the service dog route, though. Tommy wasn’t _traumatized;_ he just had a few problems. That was true for everyone.

“What about you?” Tommy found himself asking.

Tubbo blinked. “Pardon?”

“Don’t you need a service, or therapy, or whatever dog too? If I need one, you definitely need one.”

Tubbo frowned, looking down at the golden retriever. “I guess I never thought about it.”

Tommy nodded understandingly. “It’s all that president crap, you’re too focused on others and not thinking about yourself, so I guess I’ll have to do it for you.”

Well, in all honesty, Tubbo had always had a hard time not worrying about others and forgetting himself in the process. That’s why Tommy was there to keep Tubbo on track.

Tubbo hesitated. “I don’t know, she was pretty expensive, and while Quackity said Schlatt wouldn’t mind, I’m not sure about another one—”

Tommy waved his hand like he was swatting a fly. “Schlatt’s filthy rich, he can afford it,” Tommy said, not bothering to hide a hint of bitterness from his tone, “Besides, he’s trying to make ‘amends’ right? He can bother to get you a dog that helps with the trauma that _he_ caused.”

Tubbo winced. Tommy wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t like Tommy was wrong. Still, Tommy could tell the subject needed changing. Good thing Tommy was professional at that.

“Anyway,” Tommy said, crouching down to pet his new animal. He couldn’t help but to marvel at the softness of the fur, and he continued petting her just for her happy panting. “I need to name my new service animal. Any suggestions?”

Tubbo laughed, crouching down next to Tommy. “As if we don’t already know what her name is going to be.”

Tommy nodded solemnly. “You got that right.” He returned his attention to the dog. “You hear that, Clementine? You are my dog now, and it is your job to make me happy.”

Clementine barked. Tubbo laughed.

Somehow, Clementine ended up in both Tommy and Tubbo’s laps, and then Tommy felt his eyes grow heavy, a natural consequence of forcing himself not to sleep the night before.

Damn, Tommy hated natural consequences.

The next thing Tommy knew, he heard shuffling. Immediately, Tommy snapped his eyes open, surprised to see that the room was dark. Night must have fallen at some point.

He returned his attention to the source of the shuffling, but it was gone. Nobody was there.

However, there was a box on the windowsill. And Tommy _knew_ the box hadn’t been there before, because this room was as bare as a skeleton’s bones.

Carefully, Tommy shuffled out from under Clementine, trying not to wake Tubbo. Clementine blinked awake, but Tommy shushed her, and she seemed to get the idea.

“Tommy?” Tubbo asked groggily.

Damnit, Tommy must’ve shushed Clementine too loudly. The irony was not lost on him.

“It’s nothing, go back to sleep,” Tommy said quietly, trying to hide the tension in his tone.

Tubbo’s eyes snapped open. “Tommy?” he asked again, his voice sounding much more serious, “What’s wrong?”

Tommy rolled his eyes as he walked toward the windowsill. “It’s nothing!” he said, wincing at his high-pitched voice crack, “Listen, this box just appeared out of nowhere, and it’s kinda creepy. But I’m sure it’s nothing important.”

“Famous last words,” Tubbo muttered, glancing at his communicator, “Can’t you open it tomorrow? It’s still the sixteenth.”

“And that, my dear Tubbo, is how superstitions start,” Tommy tutted, picking up the small rectangular box, “Nasty things, those superstitions.”

“It’s not superstitious if it’s actually real,” Tubbo muttered bitterly, “Name one good sixteenth we’ve had.”

“Well, I’d argue that today wasn’t _horrible_ ,” Tommy said, opening the box, “Although, that may have something to do with the time-time…”

In the box, something that looked oddly like a finger was sitting on top of a pillow. There was a small note on top, but Tommy couldn’t make it out in the dark.

“Tubbo, turn on the lights,” Tommy said, willing his voice not to tremble.

Tubbo flicked the lights on. Tommy shrieked and dropped the box with a clatter.

The thing in the box didn’t _look_ like a finger. It _was_ a finger.

“What’s wrong?!” Tubbo exclaimed, clearly not having seen the contents of the box.

Tommy didn’t answer. Ignoring the churning in his stomach, Tommy crouched down, trying not to look at the finger. With violently shaking hands, Tommy picked up the small sheet of paper.

_I can’t wait for us to have more fun together._

_-Your only friend, Dream_

Tommy gasped for breath, his vision zeroing in on the finger on the red cushion. Sharp fingernail. Pink tinted skin.

_Techno._

Nausea boiled up to his throat; his head started pounding; buzzing filled his ears; and darkness closed in all around him.

Pain was an emotion Techno was very familiar with.

_PAIN ISN’T AN EMOTION. **WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT OF COURSE IT IS.** PAIN IS ALL I KNOW._

Exhaustion was another emotion that Techno was very familiar with. Couldn’t his Chat let him be in agony in peace?

_No. **Feel our pain.** He does feel our pain. **Feel it double.** Like Team Rocket, lol. **Prepare for trouble.** Make it double._

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Techno said through his gag, leaning his head against the wall. Dream had found the decency to prop Techno up so that he was in a sitting position against the wall, which Techno appreciated. At least he can be miserable in dignity.

_FINE. **GUYS TAKE IT EASY HE JUST LOST A FINGER.**_

Techno glanced down at his bound hands, grimacing at the wrapped-up stump where his middle finger used to be. He still felt the pain in his no-longer-existing finger, and sometimes he could pretend that he still had access to all ten of his fingers.

Shame it wasn’t true.

Dream, once again, had the decency to bandage the finger, much to the Chat’s chagrin. Apparently, Techno’s voices would rather have a bleeding stub than a terrible person wrap it up. Techno wasn’t about to say that it didn’t hurt his pride, but sometimes you just had to accept the help.

_FOOL. **WE JUST STOPPED OWING HIM AND NOW HE’S GONNA THINK WE OWE HIM AGAIN.** WHY DO YOU MAKE ME SUFFER LIKE THIS._

Okay, so apparently Techno had owed Dream a favor in the last timeline. Good to know. Techno will file that away for later.

_DREAM SAVED US FROM BEING EXECUTED BY TUBBO. **IT WAS REALLY ANNOYING AFTER WE FOUND TOMMY.** BECAUSE WE STILL OWED DREAM. **BUT DREAM WAS A MUFFINHEAD.** WHO ARE YOU, BAD BOY HALO?_

Techno was just learning all kinds of new things today. For instance, apparently Tubbo tried to execute him. Very interesting. Now, Techno better understood why the voices basically wanted to kill the poor kid when he showed up to rescue Tommy.

The Chat shouldn’t be so worried though. Techno didn’t owe Dream anyway. Dream patched up his finger after Wilbur cut it off, so what? Human decency didn’t mean that Techno owed Dream anything.

Well, then again, considering that Dream didn’t typically possess any human decency, maybe Dream did expect Techno to owe him one.

_AAAAAAH, HE RETURNS. **QUCK KILL HIM WHILE HE LEAST EXPECTS IT.** SMITE HIM WITH LIGHTNING. **UNDERGROUND LIGHTNING.**_

Sure enough, the door opened, revealing the silhouette of Dream. Honestly, it was a bit of a relief. As much as Techno hated the man, at least _he_ hadn’t cut off Techno’s finger.

Then again, he may have been the one to place the idea of the finger cutting into Wilbur’s head, so it seemed that nobody had the moral high ground in this situation.

**_NOT TO MENTION HE TRAUMATIZED TOMMY._ ** _BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD_

It was refreshing to know that his Chat could sometimes know sense.

Techno flipped Dream off with his left hand, which still had its middle finger. Dream let out a chuckle, clearly unbothered by Techno’s silent insult.

“If you’re good,” Dream said, shutting the iron door behind him, “I might take that gag off.”

_OH, SHUT UP. **YOU DON’T WANT TO RELEASE OUR POWER YOU SLIMY GREEN SLIME BOY.**_

Yeah, no. Technoblade wasn’t a dog to be trained. And as tempting as the gift of speech was, it wasn’t worth ‘being good’ or whatever Dream wanted to call it.

Techno rolled his eyes to get his point across.

Dream grinned and pulled something out of his inventory. Techno squinted at it and realized that it was a splash potion of some kind.

That was all the inspecting he was allowed to do before Dream chucked it at Techno, loudly splattering the potion all over him.

_IT BURNS IT BURNS. **AAAH WHAT DID HE DO TO US.** ACTUALLY, I THINK IT’S HEALING. **I’M MELTING, I’M MELTING.** GUYS WILL YOU LISTEN TO ME._

It was indeed a potion of regeneration, as it turned out. Techno had to admit that he appreciated the break from the constant pain all over, especially in his abdomen and missing finger.

Still… it seemed very out of character for Dream.

Techno raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Dream asked, “Can’t friends help each other?”

_WE ARE NOT FRIENDS. **KILL HIM WITH HIS MASK.** OH, THAT WOULD BE FUN._

Techno wasn’t stupid. Dream definitely wanted something from Techno. The main question was what. Still, Techno might as well nip this ‘friend’ business in the bud. He liked cut and dry requests, not subtle manipulation.

Techno flipped Dream off with his stub of a middle finger, hoping that would get the point across.

Dream’s smiled didn’t abate. “Wilbur was the one who did that to you, not me. Besides, wasn’t I the one who bandaged that thing up for you?” Dream shrugged. “Not that I expect you to thank me or anything, anyone would do it.”

_DON’T LISTEN TO HIM AND HIS HONEYED WORDS. **THE ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME SMELLS JUST AS SWEET.** YEAH, LIKE SEWER WATER. **LIKE SEWER WATER THAT WAS RAIDED BY RATS.** HOMELESS RAT SEWER WATER._

Yeah, Dream was definitely acting suspicious. Maybe anyone else would patch up his finger, but not Dream. At least, not the same Dream who was definitely helping Wilbur’s insanity along and had at some point traumatized Tommy in the future.

Techno gestured to the blood stain left over from Dream stabbing him.

“You attacked me first, Techno,” Dream sighed, like he was disappointed in a child.

_NUH UH, NO WAY. **IT’S MR. REVERED BLADE TO YOU.** YOU DON’T GET TO CALL US ANYTHING OTHER THAN ‘I’M VERY SORRY I WILL NEVER BOTHER YOU EVER AGAIN YOUR MAJESTY.’_

Techno raised his eyebrows. Was Dream seriously going to try to pull this kind of nonsense? Because Techno wasn’t going to fall for it. He wasn’t a malleable child.

Dream held the silence for a few seconds before bursting out into laughter.

“I knew you wouldn’t fall for it,” he cackled, sounding far too gleeful for someone who just failed in manipulation, “I’m kind of glad, it might’ve been disappointing if you had.”

_OH WELL I’M SORRY TO NOT DISAPPOINT. **IS IT WRONG THAT I’M SAD WE DIDN’T DISAPPOINT HIM.** WELL AT LEAST WE AREN’T HIS PAWN. **I FEEL LIKE HE TRIED SOMETHING LIKE THIS ON TOMMY BEFORE.**_

Wait, _what._

Dream continued on. “It doesn’t matter anyway; it’s not like I need you to actually like me to do what I want you to. I mean, I would try the favor card now, but something tells me that you won’t be as willing to buy into that.”

_NO MORE FAVORS. **WE OWE YOU NOTHING.**_

Dream was probably right. If Dream had rescued him from Wilbur, maybe Techno would feel that he owed him. But since Techno was still in this prison and very distinctly missing a finger as this psychopath tries to lure Techno’s _little brother_ to him, Techno refused to do anything for Dream.

“But you know the way to control anyone?” Dream asked.

_GASLIGHTING? **MANIPULATION?** EXILING TOMMY AND MAKING HIM TRAUMATIZED?  
_

Techno shrugged. There wasn’t much he really could say in this incredibly one-sided conversation.

“Attachments,” Dream provided, his grin becoming more feral looking. He began walking closer to Techno. “And do you know what your attachment is?”

If Techno didn’t have this gag, he would’ve denied being attached to anything. Because Dream was right, attachments were horrible weaknesses, especially when people were prone to use Techno as a weapon.

_BLOOD. **KNIVES**. TRAUMATIZED CHILDREN. **CARL.**_

Dream crouched down, probably to be eye level with Techno. It’s a shame that the effect was somewhat dulled by the fact that Techno couldn’t actually look Dream in the eyes. Though, he did admit that the mask looked somewhat creepy. Maybe that was the effect Dream was going for.

Dream grabbed Techno by the shoulder in an iron grip and leaned closer to Techno’s ear.

_DON’T TOUCH US. **NO TOUCHY.** WE NEED TO WASH OFF ALL TRACES OF GREEN SLIME MAN WHEN WE ARE FREE._

“ _Tommy,”_ Dream whispered, like he was admitting some forbidden secret. Dream let go of Techno and backed away, much to Techno’s relief.

“Your weakness is Tommy,” Dream continued, sounding incredibly smug, “You let yourself get stabbed because of Tommy. You let yourself get captured for Tommy. You would do anything for your precious brother.”

_CRAP. **LET’S JUST KILL HIM NOW AND GET IT DONE WITH ALREADY.** BITE HIM. **BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD**_

Techno forced himself to keep his face impassive. If he didn’t show distress over Dream’s statement, maybe Dream would think that he missed the mark. Maybe Dream could have one less reason to hunt Tommy down.

Dream tilted his head like a curious cat.

“Nothing?” he asked, his voice taking on a mocking lilt, “Well, I’ll be the first to admit that the thought surprised me at first. I mean, the infamous Technoblade, developing a soft spot for that self-entitled brat, especially this early in the game? It did seem a little ridiculous.”

_Early in the game? **IS HE FROM THE FUTURE TOO?** NO WAY. **IF DREAM’S FROM THE FUTURE I’M GOING TO SUE.**_

Techno forced himself not to glare at Dream after that not-so-subtle insult in Tommy’s direction. He had to stay calm.

Dream pulled a small looking pocket knife out of his inventory, twirling the thing around his fingers. “So, I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do. When I get Tommy—and it’s _when_ not _if—_ I’m going to isolate him. I’m going to make him feel like everybody hates him, that nobody cares, and that I am his only friend.”

**_BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD_ **

Anger began boiling in Techno’s veins. Is that what Dream did to Tommy while he was in exile? Manipulate him? Gaslight him?

Dream seemed completely unbothered by Techno’s struggle to keep his emotions under control.

“I’ll do that all while blowing up his stuff, hurting him, and playing with him like an interesting little game until he looks at lava pools like they’re his old friend.”

_OH MY GOD HE IS FROM THE FUTURE. **OH NO.** I’M SUING. **OH CRAP, WE’RE SCREWED.**_

This time, Techno couldn’t hide the pure fury on his face. Because if it turned out that Dream _was_ from the future, and that Dream had _already done_ those despicable things to Tommy, then, well, there would be _hell to pay_.

**_BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD_ **

Dream smirked. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Techno saw a flash of steel, and he became suddenly aware of fresh pain across his cheek. Hot blood began flowing down his face, getting some of the metallic tasting substance in his mouth.

Dream displayed his now bloody knife, dangling it tantalizingly with a smile. “That hurts, doesn’t it? You probably won’t admit it; you’re too strong for that, aren’t you?”

If it weren’t for this stupid mask, Techno would’ve spat some of the blood in his mouth straight onto Dream’s pristine mask. As it was, he couldn’t actually do that, so Techno settled for a simple glare.

Dream placed the tip of his knife on Techno’s jawline, still smiling. “But you know who isn’t strong?”

_DON’T YOU DARE. **DON’T TOUCH HIM YOU DISGUSTING MONSTER.** LEAVE TOMMY OUT OF THIS._

Techno let out a guttural growl through his gag, surging forward, ignoring how the knife immediately broke skin. Dream slammed him back against the wall.

“And _when_ I get Tommy back, you will listen to my every command,” Dream said, his voice becoming threatening, “Because if you don’t, I will give him ten of those cuts for every time you disobey.”

Dream stood up, flicking some blood at Techno. “Just, remember that.”

Techno wished that Dream would rip off his gag, so that Techno could give him a piece of his mind, so that Techno could spit out every threat he had, so that Techno could swear that he would rip Dream apart limb by limb and then cut up those limbs and then bury each of those pieces in such obscure parts that nobody would recover every piece of his pathetic body.

**_YES._ ** _LET’S DO THAT. **SO VIOLENT, I LOVE IT.** NOBODY WILL EVER FIND THE CULPRIT. **NOBODY WOULD EVER FIND DREAM.** MUAHAHAHAHHA. **BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD**_

But Dream never took off Techno’s gag, so Techno was left shouting through his gag as Dream opened and shut the door behind him with a damning bang _._

Phil continued flying toward Manberg, holding his ringing communicator up to his ear.

_Pick up, pick up, pick up._

The ringing stopped, and Phil held his breath when he didn’t hear the usual automated voice message.

Silence. Then,

“Phil?”

Wilbur’s voice was unsure and unstable, but that didn’t stop Phil from letting out a sigh of relief.

“Hey Wilbur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I didn't mean for it to go like this. But a commenter asked me specifically not to do the finger sending thing, and I cackled like a madman because it was such a good idea. 
> 
> This chapter was way longer than I expected. 
> 
> Tommy forgave Tubbo in canon pretty quickly all things considered, so I feel like after Tubbo properly apologizes, Tommy's fairly willing to forgive _Tubbo_. Schlatt still has to work for it. 
> 
> Clementine got two votes when I asked for name suggestions in my Tumblr, so Clementine it is. 
> 
> If you squint, you can see the very beginning of Wilbur's redemption arc. Congratulations those of you who have been ~~impatiently~~ so very patiently waiting for this moment. Let me remind you guys that this redemption arc is going to be slow and messy business, but I hope to do it justice. 
> 
> By the way, the techno scene probably happened on the fourteenth-ish. The timelines aren't perfectly aligned yet. Phil, Tommy, and Tubbo are all operating on the sixteenth though. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, please be nice in the comments, and I hope you enjoyed! <3
> 
> I have a [discord](https://discord.gg/QZcnK9DNEA) now! Check it out if you'd like. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity is mad. Important phone calls are made. Dream makes an offer. Wilbur refuses one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: manipulation, child abuse, panic attacks, amputated finger, abandonment issues

After Schlatt explained everything to Quackity, there was this long, drawn-out silence.

“Oh my god,” Quackity breathed out, looking unsure of himself and what he was supposed to say, “You killed Tubbo?”

Schlatt decided not to correct him with the technicality that it was Techno who pulled the trigger. It didn’t change the fact that Schlatt was the one who gave the order. Schlatt was the one who publicly humiliated and executed Tubbo.

“Yep,” Schlatt said, popping the ‘p.’ He massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to repress the incoming headache he saw coming on. “Pretty disgusting, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘pretty disgusting’ might be an understatement.” Quackity’s voice grew bolder. “What the hell were you thinking? Tubbo’s a kid!”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was drunk.” Schlatt sighed. “Well, that’s a really pathetic excuse, considering that the festival was basically a glorified execution.”

“Well then, tell me the truth.” Quackity glowered at Schlatt.

“I was angry,” Schlatt said slowly, “I think I was scared that Tubbo was going to be my undoing. But really, I was just being terrible, there’s no other way around it.”

“God, Schlatt,” Quackity seethed, “I knew you were going bad, but that…killing a kid? Seriously?”

Schlatt laughed humorlessly. “There’s a reason I wanted Tubbo to punch me,” he said, “Do you need one too? You kinda look like you want to, and it’s not like I don’t deserve it.”

Quackity opened and closed his fist repeatedly, like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do.

“Also,” Schlatt said, suddenly remembering something, “I’m sorry. For everything, but more specifically the abuse that I put you through during my time here.”

Quackity scowled and the floor. “It wasn’t that bad,” he muttered, “Better than child murder, at any rate.”

Schlatt winced, but it wasn’t like Quackity didn’t have a point. Killing Tubbo _was_ a screwed-up thing to do. It was definitely something that would scar Tubbo for the rest of his life, even if the actual burn scars were erased.

In all honesty, Schlatt was kind of relieved that Quackity wasn’t letting this go. Seeing Tubbo’s insistence upon politeness only really made Schlatt feel worse about his past actions. It was just a constant reminder of what a _good kid_ Tubbo was and how Schlatt had tried to snuff that out.

Schlatt opened his mouth, ready to apologize some more, when the door slammed open revealing Tommy, who was actually _crying_ and shaking like he had seen Dream himself.

Oh crap. Tommy _never_ let people see him like this unless it was _really_ bad.

Tubbo followed close behind Tommy, as well as a dog. It must be the one that Quackity mentioned Tubbo buying for Tommy.

Tommy stormed across the room, slamming a small, rectangular box against the desk.

“Wha—” Quackity began, but Tommy interrupted him.

“Just open it,” he commanded, his voice a mix of anger and trepidation, “Just open the damn thing.”

Dread coiling his stomach, Schlatt started opening the box; Quackity hovered over his shoulder.

When they saw what was inside, they both swore at the top of their lungs so loudly that the entire White House probably heard.

It was a finger. It was a _freaking_ finger. It was a finger sitting on a small red cushion. A strong stench of fabric freshener filled the air, and Schlatt didn’t doubt for a minute that it was trying mask the scent of rotting skin.

And Schlatt had a sneaking suspicion he knew who the finger belonged to.

Nausea stirred in his stomach, and Schlatt quickly closed the box, not wanting to look at its contents anymore.

“Did it come with a note?” he asked.

Tommy and Tubbo were still shaking, but Schlatt needed to get a handle on the situation as quickly as possible.

“Ye—”

“No.”

Tubbo was the first to speak, but he was quickly interrupted by Tommy, who was wearing a scowl fierce enough to scare monsters away.

“There was, though!” Tubbo protested, giving Tommy a look, “You picked it up, I remember!”

“You remembered wrong,” Tommy said, his voice closing off.

“Tommy.” Schlatt sighed. “If there was a note, we need to see it. It might help us figure out where Technoblade is.”

“He’s in Pogtopia,” Tommy snapped, “Everybody knows that, idiot.”

“Actually, he’s not,” Quackity said, his own voice tense, “We already scouted out Pogtopia, it’s been completely abandoned. It looks like they were smart enough to hide somewhere new.”

Tommy froze, his mouth slightly agape. His eyes darted between Schlatt, Quackity, and Tubbo so quickly that Schlatt was almost worried that the kid was going to make himself dizzy.

“What-when-why didn’t anyone tell me?” Tommy stuttered, giving everyone a slightly betrayed looking look.

“I thought Fundy told you,” Tubbo said, looking almost as surprised as Tommy did, “I had already visited that day, and we wanted you to know as soon as possible.”

Tommy frowned, clutching his head. “He might’ve, I don’t remember.”

“Maybe he forgot?” Tubbo suggested.

“I might’ve been asleep,” Tommy admitted.

“Crappy timing for a nap,” Quackity muttered.

Tommy glowered at Quackity. “Well, how was I supposed to know that Fundy was going to deliver critical news to me that day? It’s not like I have this magical ability to know when I’m not supposed to nap. And you know what, I’m allowed to nap whenever I want, jerk, so leave me alone!”

Quackity blinked before raising his arms in surrender. “Okay, okay. Forget I said anything.”

“Back to the subject at hand,” Schlatt said, looking a seething Tommy in the eyes, “Do you have a note? Because if there’s anything—”

“There isn’t,” Tommy interrupted shortly, “Anything. It was just a stupid note; there was no information on it at all.”

Damn. Still, there might be something that Tommy didn’t notice on first glance.

“Can I see it?” Schlatt asked.

Tommy glanced down before glaring back at Schlatt.

“No.” His voice was shaking, but Schlatt knew that Tommy wasn’t easily going to give into this request.

Schlatt needed a drink. 

Schlatt got ready to begin begging for Tommy to give him something to work with, but he was interrupted by sudden ringing.

Tubbo quickly pulled his communicator out of his pocket, fumbling with the small device for a moment. He then froze, staring at the screen. What was wrong?

“Tubbo?” Tommy whispered.

Tubbo’s hands began shaking. “It’s Dream.”

His voice came out as a thin whisper, and Schlatt almost didn’t hear it. But he did, and Schlatt immediately got to his feet, causing his chair to clatter loudly behind him.

Tubbo flinched and automatically took a step back. Schlatt felt a pang of guilt, but there was no time to dwell on it now.

“Give it to me,” Schlatt said, unable to keep the urgency out of his voice.

He needed to speak to Dream. He needed to figure out where Technoblade was. He needed to make it clear that Dream was not to hurt anyone else ever again.

Tubbo slowly dropped the communicator into Schlatt’s hand, and Schlatt quickly accepted the call.

“Hello Tubbo,” Dream said sweetly, his voice slightly robotic over the phone.

“Wrong,” Schlatt snarled, “Guess again.”

“Schlatt.”

Schlatt didn’t know what to make of Dream’s tone of voice. Was it terse? Masked? Unsurprised?

It didn’t matter.

“Where the hell are you?” Schlatt demanded, leaning against his desk for support.

“Wow, somebody’s angry,” Dream said, “But I suppose that’s on par for the course for you, isn’t it Schlatt?”

Schlatt refused to rise to the bait.

“I’m going to ask you this once and only once,” Schlatt growled, “ _Where. The. Hell. Is. Technoblade?”_

“Why do you want to know so badly?” Dream asked, “I wasn’t aware you cared. I thought your great nation was the only thing you cared about.”

Schlatt could hear gasped breaths. His eyes followed the sound to see Tubbo hunching in on himself, looking at Schlatt with raw fear. Guilt flooded through Schlatt, because _he had done this, he had made Tubbo this afraid of him._

But now wasn’t the time to drown in his guilt. Schlatt made eye contact with Quackity and gestured to the door.

 _“Get him out,”_ he mouthed.

Quackity nodded, gently leading Tubbo out of the room. Tommy stayed where he was, though he whispered to his dog to follow.

“Did I hit a nerve?” Dream taunted, clearly taking Schlatt’s silence as shocked guilt instead of Tubbo having a panic attack.

“You wish,” Schlatt said, gesturing at Tommy and trying to convey the idea of _leave the room._

Tommy only scowled and stood stubbornly there, even though he was trembling so much that Schlatt was afraid he was going to collapse any minute now.

“Okay, whatever you say,” Dream said, definitely drawing out the doubt in his voice, “Anyway, I’ll tell you where you can find Techno.”

Yeah, like it’s that easy.

“Uh-huh, I definitely believe that,” Schlatt said, layering on his own sarcasm.

“No, really,” Dream said, “If you let me talk to Tommy, I’ll tell him exactly where he can find Techno.”

 _Dream, you slimy monster._ Of course, Dream was going to only tell Tommy, and Tommy would accept because he wanted to save his brother. And then Dream would start manipulating Tommy again, start worming his way into his head until Tommy believed every word, and then Dream would start paving his pathway to victory.

It was evil. It sounded like something the old Schlatt might’ve attempted if he had the wits.

“No way in hell,” Schlatt snarled, “I’m not letting you speak to him ever again.”

“Didn’t you exile him?” Dream asked, “I’m not sure you’re allowed to make choices for him, Schlatt. So, why don’t you ask Tommy what he wants?”

Damnit, Dream knew exactly what buttons to press to make Schlatt feel that overwhelming burden of guilt. Because Dream was right, Schlatt _had_ exiled Tommy, and he really _didn’t_ have the right to make choices for him.

But this was different, because putting Tommy in a vulnerable situation with his abuser was cruel, and Schlatt wasn’t about to allow it.

“You are not speaking with him,” Schlatt said firmly. He glanced up at Tommy, who still looked as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to look angry or terrified. Dream would do nothing to improve his mental health. “It doesn’t matter what he wants. Talking to you is the last thing he _needs._ ”

“Who does Dream want to talk to?” Tommy demanded, “Does he want to speak with me?”

“Give Tommy the phone or Techno’s losing another finger,” Dream said, his voice suddenly dangerous, “I won’t hesitate; he’ll still have eight to spare.”

Schlatt froze, now staring at Tommy. If he refused, Tommy would never forgive him for causing Techno to lose another limb, but if Schlatt put Tommy in a one-on-one conversation with his abuser, then Tommy would trapped in his own right.

But the idea of Tommy getting sent another finger wasn’t much better.

“He does want to speak to me, doesn’t he?” Tommy’s voice wavered before hardening. “Well, give me the damn communicator then.”

“You have five seconds,” Dream said in a bored tone, “Five, four, three—”

There was really no other option.

“Fine,” Schlatt bit out.

Schlatt needed _two_ drinks. 

He hated himself as he handed the phone to Tommy. Tommy’s hands were shaking, no matter how hard the kid was probably trying to hide it.

Tommy lifted the phone up to his ear, and Schlatt was almost proud to hear the raw anger in the kid’s voice when he spoke.

“Hello, Dream.”

“Hello, Tommy,” Dream said, “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Tommy tightened his fist so tightly that he felt his nails dig into his palms. They were probably drawing blood at this point, but Tommy didn’t care.

“Where’s Techno?” Tommy demanded.

“That’s a rude way to address your friend,” Dream said, sounding disappointed, “I thought I taught you better than that.”

Tommy began to curl into himself, because _he had disappointed Dream and that was bad and Dream could hurt him—_ but then he saw Schlatt still leaning forward against his desk, watching Tommy like a hawk.

Tommy wasn’t going to let that ram see him in a moment of weakness. No way. Not going to happen.

Tommy straightened, forcing his voice to stay bold.

“You’re not my friend,” Tommy said firmly, “You just want to control me, and it’s not going to work.”

“That’s a very ungrateful thing for you to say, Toms,” Dream said. A threatening undertone laced his voice. “Especially after that gift I sent you?”

“Shut up,” Tommy snapped, forcing down the panic that was threatening to take over, trying not to think about Techno’s finger in that box, “Where is Techno?”

Dream hummed, and Tommy repressed a shudder. “I’ll tell you if you apologize.”

Tommy scowled. “Apologize for what, damnit—”

“Apologize for being an ungrateful brat,” Dream interrupted, “Nobody wants you, Tommy; you shouldn’t push the only person who cares away.”

“Tubbo cares—” Tommy began.

“Like Wilbur does?” Dream asked sharply.

Tommy took a step back, even though Dream wasn’t anywhere in the room. His ears started buzzing.

“Wilbur cares about me,” Tommy whispered, “More than you do, you sick—”

“If Wilbur cares about you, why does he hurt you?” Dream asked, “Why do you get nightmares about him? Why is he hurting his other brother?”

“That’s you,” Tommy said, forcing his voice to grow stronger, “That’s _you_ placing ideas into his _head!”_

“Okay, that’s enough.” Schlatt was walking toward Tommy. His hand was outstretched, probably for Tommy to give him the phone.

Tommy stepped away. This call wasn’t over; Tommy still didn’t know where Techno was. Tommy needed to learn where Techno was. It was Tommy’s own fault that Techno didn’t _have a finger_ anymore, and Tommy needed to make it right. He needed to save him.

“You’re being delusional,” Dream said, like it was a regular occurrence for Tommy to be delusional, “This is why you need me to keep you in check. Now, apologize, and I’ll tell you where Techno is.”

Tommy opened and closed his mouth like a fish above water. He didn’t want to apologize to Dream. Dream didn’t deserve his apology. _But he needed to, he insulted him, and Dream was his only friend, and Tommy should be grateful Dream’s willing to tell him at all, and—_

Tubbo burst through the doors, looking panicked. Quackity and Clementine followed, and Clementine immediately ran up to Tommy and nudged his leg with her head.

“What are you doing?” Tubbo demanded. He spun over to Schlatt. “Why did you let him—”

“He didn’t leave me with much of a choice,” Schlatt said bitterly, “And now Tommy won’t let me take the thing back.”

Tommy flipped Schlatt off. He needed to figure out where Techno was.

“Tommy, I’m waiting,” Dream said, impatience bleeding into his voice.

Tommy flinched. “Fine, I’m sorry.”

“For?”

Tommy scowled, and heat rushed up to his face. He couldn’t believe he was doing this in front of Schlatt and Tubbo. _He deserved it._

“I’m sorry for being ungrateful,” Tommy said slowly, “It was wrong of me. You’re only trying to be a good friend.”

Tubbo looked horrified. Tommy looked down at the floor.

“Good boy,” Dream purred, and Tommy hated the small part of himself that actually felt warm at the praise. “Now, next week, I’m going to send Tubbo a time and coordinates. You and Tubbo are to come _unarmed_ and _alone._ If you don’t, I’m cutting Techno’s legs off.”

Cold shock shuddered through Tommy’s body. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Tommy hated the smugness in Dream’s tone.

“Fine,” Tommy whispered.

“I’ll see you then.”

The call ended. Tommy allowed his hand to fall to his side, and Tubbo’s communicator slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

“Tommy!” Tubbo exclaimed, rushing up to him. Tommy immediately took a step back.

“I’m fine, Tubbo,” he said, reaching down to pet Clementine’s soft fur, “He said he’ll send the coordinates next week. He said that me and Tubbo have to come alone. Unarmed.”

Schlatt’s face darkened. “No way,” he said, “Absolutely not.”

“He’s going to cut Techno’s legs off if we don’t,” Tommy said coldly, “There’s not much of a choice.”

“No, there is,” Quackity said, “We can drink invisibility potions, get the jump on them while they’re distracted by you two. We rescue Techno, capture Wilbur, kill Dream. Everybody wins.”

Tommy let out a bitter laugh. “There’s no way Dream’s on his last life. He would only come back.”

“With what army?” Schlatt asked, “At the end of the day, Dream’s just a man. If he tries to go up against all of us, he’s going to lose.”

Tubbo picked his communicator up from the ground, shoving it back into his pocket. “We’ve got this, Tommy.”

Tommy didn’t smile, but he did manage a nod. “Okay,” he said, “Yeah, that might work.”

“And Phil’s on his way,” Tubbo added, “I’m sure he’ll be a great help.”

“He’d better be,” Schlatt muttered.

“Phil, what-what are you—why are you calling me?” Wilbur asked.

Phil watched the landscape zoom beneath him as he clung onto his communicator.

“Why wouldn’t I call you?” Phil asked, making sure to keep his voice gentle, “You’re my son, Wilbur. I want to check in on you.”

Phil winced when Wilbur’s voice took a turn to the worse. “You haven’t called this entire time,” he snarled, “Why are you calling me now?”

Phil sighed. “Listen, Tommy call—”

“Tommy?” Wilbur’s voice now bordered on desperate. “You talked to Tommy? Where is he?”

Phil chose his words carefully. According to Tommy, Wilbur wasn’t quite in his right mind, and it wouldn’t do for Phil to accidentally trigger Wilbur’s paranoia. Wilbur needed help, but Phil couldn’t do that if Wilbur pushed him away.

“He’s safe,” Phil said, deciding it would be a horrible idea to say that he was in the country Wilbur was planning on blowing up, “He’s safe, but I’m worried about you, Wilbur.”

“If he’s safe, why don’t you tell me where he is?” Wilbur snarled, “You’re with them, aren’t you? You’re with Schlatt! You have Tommy captured, you can’t do that, he’s mine, you can’t—”

Oh god, this was way worse than Tommy made it out to be.

“Wilbur,” Phil said firmly, interrupting his son’s spiral, “Tommy is not captured. He’s being well taken care of. He called me because he wants you to get help.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Wilbur growled, “You never wanted to help me before, it was always about Techno, your _prodigy._ And then you never call while I’m away, and now you’re keeping Tommy away from me. You don’t want to help me, you’re trying to ensnare me in a trap, you’re trying to kill me—”

“No,” Phil said firmly, trying to hide his rising horror, “I’m not trying to kill you, and I _do_ want to help you, Wil. I’m sorry if you felt that I was prioritizing Techno over you, I never meant to make you feel that way, but—”

“Shut up, shut up!” Wilbur shouted, “Stop _lying!_ You never loved me, stop pretending to now!”

“I’m not lying,” Phil said, “I love you. I love you so much.”

There was a loud beep. Wilbur had hung up on him.

Phil felt horror threaten to overflow. Wilbur really hated him that much? Wilbur really thought that Phil didn’t love him?

Almost instantly, images of Wilbur’s childhood flashed across Phil’s mind. Kristin bringing a five-year-old Wilbur home; Wilbur playing with Techno in the backyard; Wilbur giving Phil a big hug every morning; Wilbur cuddling with Tommy; Wilbur leaving with Tommy.

When had things gotten so bad? Had Phil really payed more attention to Techno than to Wilbur? He would be the first to admit that he had spent a lot of time training Techno, but that didn’t mean he loved Techno more.

Phil immediately pressed Wilbur’s contact again, ready to rectify his failure as a father.

_Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up._

No response.

Phil continued to try calling Wilbur for the rest of his journey, but Wilbur never answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [discord](https://discord.gg/QZcnK9DNEA) now. Please check it out. I want friends. I want people to scream at me about my fics. Also, you get the chapter notification sooner on discord. Ao3 emails take longer. 
> 
> Anyway, back to real notes: 
> 
> Schlatt tried to handle the situation as best as he could, but if you think he made an error in judgement, remember he's not perfect. 
> 
> Tommy is very traumatized, and Dream is enjoying himself way too much.
> 
> Wilbur is not about to accept any help. As a matter of fact, Wilbur is going to actively oppose his redemption arc all the way. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> We'll be seeing Techno in the next chapter, so that'll give you guys something to look forward to. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, please be nice in the comments, and thank you for reading! <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dadschlatt vs Dadza, who will win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: manipulation, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced death, some mild torture

Something had really ticked off Wilbur recently.

Techno knew this because he could hear Wilbur’s shouting and things being shattered against the wall. Techno also knew this because Wilbur had stormed in and beat Techno bloody.

“First you,” Wilbur had gasped, slamming his fist into Techno’s still bleeding cheek, “And now Phil! Damnit, stop lying to me!”

_Phil? **PHIL, PHIL, PHIL, PHIL.** PHIL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY. **I FEEL LIKE WE ARE IGNORING THE FACT THAT SPARKY IS TRYING TO BEAT US INTO THE GROUND.** PHIL, PHIL, PHIL, PHIL, PHIL_

Had Techno ever mentioned how much of a headache Chat gave him? Because if not, know that it was a critical part of his existence.

Still, Wilbur’s absurd amount of anger over Phil raised some questions in Techno’s mind. Namely, what had Phil done to get Wilbur so mad?

_Called, I bet. **Showed up?** VISITED HIM IN A DREAM. **VISITED DREAM.** DIED, BECAME A GHOST, AND STARTED HAUNTING HIM. **GUYS WHAT IF WE ARE REALLY ALL DEAD AND THIS IS OUR OWN PERSONAL HELL**_

This is why Chat should never be allowed to theorize.

Though, if Techno were going to go with one of their guesses, the first two were definitely the most likely. The first was probably the likeliest, though. Phil probably gave Wilbur a call, probably saying, “hey, what’s up with you son?”, and Wilbur probably lost it.

Still, Techno would appreciate it if Wilbur could take his anger out on a punching bag instead of slamming Techno into the ground like he was some sort of training dummy.

_THIS IS DIVINE RETRIBUTION FOR THE PIT. **SOMEHOW, I DOUBT THAT.** YOU’D THINKING STABBING WOULD BE ENOUGH PENANCE, BUT NOOOO_

Notch, Techno hoped that he hadn’t done anything close to this much damage to Tommy in the past timeline. If so, Techno was frankly surprised Tommy was even willing to look at him.

_Well, you forget that we protected him from the green Tellytubby. **WE PROBABLY SHOULD’VE THROWN HIM OUTSIDE.** YEAH, HE WAS STEALING OUR STUFF. **HE WAS SAD AND SCARED CUT HIM SOME SLACK.** WE DO NOT CUT THEIVES SLACK. **THE FUTURE SAYS OTHERWISE.**_

“You betrayed me,” Wilbur was continuing, “Phil never loved me, you never loved me, you betrayed me, Tommy’s captured, Phil’s in on it, and he’s pretending he loves me so that he can trap me, and…”

_THE DADDY ISSUES STRIKE AGAIN. **WOULDN’T IT BE NICE IF HE WOULD JUST LISTEN TO SOMEONE?** DUDE, HE’S LIKE TECHNO WHEN THIS BEGAN. **WOULDN’T BELIEVE A WORD OUT OF OUR MOUTHS.** DO WE EVEN HAVE MOUTHS?_

Chat, Techno was trying to listen to Wilbur’s rant. Maybe then, he could figure out a way to calm his brother. Or, at least, calm his brother as soon as this stupid gag was removed from his mouth, which only ever happened when Dream fed him.

Those times were always fun.

The day after Dream and Techno had that _lovely_ one-sided conversation, Dream brought Techno food, which consisted of two potatoes.

Techno was starving, though, so even two potatoes seemed like a god-send.

Still, Techno was faced with a bit of a dilemma.

On one hand, Techno was ravenous, and would really like to eat some food. It would at least get rid of the constant aching in his stomach, which is one less thing, if you asked him.

On the other hand, getting food meant cooperating with _Dream,_ the man who wanted to torment, abuse, and manipulate his little brother, so you had to forgive Techno if he said he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of playing nice with him.

_STARVE. **POG THROUGH THE PAIN.** NO PLAYING NICE. **PRETEND TO PLAY NICE AND THEN BITE HIM.** I’M HUNGRY I WANT FOOD_

Techno decided that he wouldn’t be much help to anyone if he was half-dead from starvation, so he decided that he would ‘behave’ long enough to get the food and water into his system.

Dream was ever the charmer as he walked into the room.

“Hello, Techno,” he said, sitting down next to Techno with the plate of potatoes in his hands, “I hope you’ve been giving what I told you earlier some thought?”

Techno settled for a hard glare.

_WE DO NOT SPARE THOUGHTS FOR YOU. **Are you kidding? All we ever do is brood about him.** WE DO NOT SPARE POSITIVE THOUGHTS FOR YOU. **That’s not what he asked.**_

Dream’s smile didn’t fade. “Well, you’ve clearly cooled down a little bit,” he said, “Which is good, because it means I can give you this.”

Dream gestured to the plate of potatoes with one hand, holding the plate with the other.

Techno was already regretting his decision to play nice. Dream was acting way to smug for a man who threatened a sixteen-year-old child the day prior.

Still, Techno forced himself not to bite Dream as Dream took the gag out of Techno’s mouth.

_BITE HIM YOU COWARD. **FREEDOM.** BITE, BITE, BITE_

The Chat seemed to have forgotten that Techno was trying to get food into his system so he didn’t become a useless pile of bones. In order to do that, Techno kind of needed to cooperate with Dream for the time being. Cooperation meant no biting.

_WE DON’T NEED FOOD. **YEAH, I EAT FEAR FOR BREAKFAST.**_

That was all very well and good, but Techno did need actual sustenance. Besides, the Chat shouldn’t worry so much; he had the situation under control. Not to mention that Techno was ninety-percent certain that Dream had given up the whole manipulation thing, based on the way he acted yesterday.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have his guard up.

Holding the gag, Dream tilted his head, and Techno imagined him raising his eyebrows underneath the mask.

“No insults?” he asked, smiling, “Seems like you’ve given what I’ve said to more thought than you made out.”

Techno scowled again. “You disgust me,” he said, unable to help himself. His voice was hoarse and barely audible, but Techno was glad to hear that he still managed to infuse all of the unadulterated hatred he felt into his voice.

_You can do better than that. **HONESTLY, WE HAVE SO MANY BETTER INSULTS IN OUR ARMADA.** WE’LL START WITH HOMELESS TELLYTUBBY._

Dream snorted. “If we’re going to talk about disgusting, you’re not one to talk,” he said, “You’re absolutely filthy. When’s the last time you showered?”

Around anyone else, Techno might’ve rolled his eyes. Instead, he gave Dream the most furious glare he could muster, which, coincidentally enough, could strike fear into the strongest of men.

“You know what I meant,” he growled, the hoarseness of his voice actually adding to the effect. Any sane man would be running for the hills by now.

Turned out that Dream wasn’t any sane man, because he didn’t even frown. As a matter of fact, he simply continued on with his pleasant tone.

“Well, if we’re going to say it in that sense, you’re still not really one to talk,” Dream said, “But that’s neither here nor there. Do you want your food or not?” Dream held up one of the potatoes.

Techno didn’t let his glare abate, but he did let out a frustrated breath.

“Fine,” he snapped, “Give me the food.”

_WE STARVE. **FOR BLOOD.** DREAM’S BLOOD. **LET’S BITE HIM.**_

“Nuh, uh, uh,” Dream said, “What’s the magic word?”

Techno raised his eyebrows. “We’re seriously doing this?”

_**I DENY POLITENESS.** NO WAY._

Dream’s smile grew wider. “C’mon, it’s not that hard.”

Techno still didn’t believe what he was hearing. “Seriously?”

Dream began tossing the potato up and down in the air. “Listen, I don’t have to give you this. Just say it and be done with it already.”

_TECHNO DON’T YOU DARE. **PRESERVE YOUR DIGNITY.** WE DON’T NEED FOOD ANYWAY. **SMACK HIM IN THE FACE.**_

Techno gritted his teeth. If looks could kill, he’d probably have killed an entire army at this point. “ _Please_ , give me the damn potato.”

Dream snorted and tossed the potato to Techno, who caught it. Just because his wrists were tied up, didn’t mean he couldn’t catch things, which was good; he might’ve been forced to eat a dirty potato otherwise.

 _I can’t believe you’ve done this. **At least he caught the potato.** I am disappointed. Feel my disappointment. _ **_THROW THE POTATO AT HIM._**

Making sure to glare at Dream the entire time, Techno ate the potato, being sure to make each bite as violent and threatening as possible.

Dream didn’t give him the second potato that day. Techno just found himself glad he wasn’t forced to use his manners again.

Now, Wilbur was still beating him like a someone who really needed someone to talk to but only knew how to do that by punching something.

“I hate you,” Wilbur snarled, picking Techno up by the scuff of his now incredibly stained and dirty shirt, “I hate you so much.”

Techno raised his eyebrows in a “what do you want me to do about it” sort of way, and Wilbur snarled.

Techno braced himself for another punch, but they were rudely interrupted by the unexpected sound of a communicator ringing.

Wilbur dropped Techno to the ground, causing him to land in an unattractive heap.

_TECHNOFALL. **LIKE A BAG OF POTATOS.** THE PHONE, THE PHONE IS RINGING. **THE PHONE, WE’LL BE RIGHT THERE.** THERE’S A TECHNOBLADE IN TROUBLE. **THERE’S A TECHNOBLADE IN TROUBLE.** THERE’S A TECHNOBLADE IN TROUBLE SOMEWHERE._

Techno really wished that the Chat would stop doing random musical numbers. It was both annoying and out-of-tune.

Wilbur, meanwhile, was swearing profusely, digging his communicator out of one of the pockets in his trench coat.

Techno watched as Wilbur stared at the caller ID, sagged very visibly, and accepted the call with a crazed grin.

“Hello, Schlatt,” he said, “Did you like my gift?”

Wilbur’s face suddenly darkened, and he ended the call almost instantly. With a sudden scream, threw the communicator against the wall. It was a good thing that communicators were made of sturdy stuff, or it would have probably shattered into a million pieces.

_WHAT’S UP WITH HIM. **SCHLATT MUST’VE SAID SOMETHING RUDE.** RUDE ENOUGH FOR HIM TO THROW A TEMPER TANTRUM LIKE A MAN CHILD?_

Wilbur was running his hands through his hair, muttering to himself.

“It’s just a trap, he wants to keep Tommy away from you, he’s mocking you, he’s mocking your weakness, he wants to flaunt his victory, but, but…” A twisted grin grew on Wilbur’s face. “I can use this to my advantage.”

_Is anyone else confused? **I feel like Technoblade right now.**_

Techno watched as Wilbur straightened, calmly walked across the room, and picked up his communicator. Wilbur dusted it off and put it back into his pocket. Still grinning, he left the room.

_WELL, THAT WASN’T OMINIOUS AT ALL. **NOPE, THAT WAS COMPLETELY NORMAL.** TO BE HONEST, THIS IS PRETTY NORMAL BEHAVIOR FOR WILBUR._

Dream entered the room soon after Wilbur left, treating all of Techno’s wounds and splashing regen all over him. Techno made sure to glare at Dream the entire time.

Schlatt sent everyone to bed after those highly stressful conversations. Tommy looked like he was ready to pull an all-nighter, but Tubbo managed to convince him to go to bed, much to Schlatt’s relief. God knows that kid needed sleep. Anyone with eyes could see those purple eye-bags from a mile away.

Now, Schlatt was contemplating how wonderful a drink would be right about now, as well as how on earth they were going to launch an _ambush_ on Dream when he always seemed to be a step ahead of them.

Schlatt’s musings were interrupted by the doors to his office slamming open loudly, adding a fresh wave of pain to a headache he had acquired earlier. Half-expecting it to be Tommy again, Schlatt glanced up tiredly.

Philza Minecraft strode into the room, his wings fully spread out in all of their glory. His face was burning with fury, and he truly looked like the Angel of Death, ascending from hell to bring retribution for all of Schlatt’s crimes.

Schlatt instinctively leaned back in his seat, because man, Philza did not have his reputation for no reason.

Philza slammed his hands against the table, glaring down at Schlatt. Looks might not kill, but Schlatt was seriously concerned that he might have another heart attack anyway.

“ _What. Have. You. Done. To. My. Sons?”_ Philza growled.

Schlatt should’ve expected this. But, for some reason, he hadn’t expected it at all. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Phil had seen Tommy in exile and had done nothing about it. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Phil actively put a sword through Wilbur’s chest.

Schlatt forced himself to regain some composure. Straightening in his seat, he looked Philza straight in the eyes when he spoke.

“I exiled Wilbur and Tommy,” he said, “and believe me when I tell you that it was one of the worst mistakes of my life.”

Mistake was a pretty term for sin. Schlatt’s worst crime would be killing Tubbo, even if it will never happen in this timeline.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Phil said, looking like he was getting ready to gut Schlatt like a fish.

Schlatt let out a bitter laugh. “Actually, I have a pretty good idea of what I’ve done,” he said, “And I’m trying to make things right.”

“Make things right?” Phil demanded, “You think you can just make things right? My _son_ is out there, completely lost to paranoia, and you think you can just make this right with a wave of your hand?”

“I never said that,” Schlatt said.

“Give me your communicator,” Phil demanded in such a way that Schlatt knew that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Schlatt pulled his communicator out of his pocket and dropped it into Phil’s hand. Phil immediately punched in a number and pressed call, holding the communicator up to his ear.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Phil muttered, all of the anger gone and instead replaced with worry.

Clearly, somebody picked up the phone, because Phil’s face looked like a mixture of relief and horror.

“Wil, it’s me,” Phil said, his voice suddenly soft, “It’s Phil. Listen, Wil, you need help, please, let me help…” Phil swore underneath his breath.

Phil dropped the communicator onto Schlatt’s desk, massaging his forehead.

“Wilbur less than receptive?” Schlatt asked.

Phil glared at Schlatt. “He’s under the impression that you’re holding Tommy captive, which I would believe based on your past crimes if it weren’t for the fact that Tommy called me for help, and there would be no way that you would allow a prisoner to call his father like that.”

“Probably not,” Schlatt agreed, “And I don’t blame him for being under that impression. In all fairness, he held Tubbo captive about four or five days ago.”

Philza froze. “What?” he whispered.

“You heard me,” Schlatt said, his own tone darkening, “Tubbo tried to rescue Tommy from Wilbur and got captured himself.”

Come to think of it, Schlatt had never lectured Tubbo over disobeying direct orders like that. It was probably for the best. Tubbo wouldn’t have reacted too great to being yelled at by his former abuser.

“Rescue Tommy from Wilbur?” Phil asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Oh god, did Tommy seriously leave out the vital detail that Wilbur had been emotionally abusing him? Because if so, Schlatt was going to have some serious words with him on what is classified as _important_ to tell your father.

“Wilbur has been emotionally abusing your son,” Schlatt said frankly, “I won’t go into all of the details, mainly because I don’t know all of the details myself. I _do_ know, however, that Wilbur gaslighted Tommy into thinking that Tubbo didn’t care about him, so Tubbo felt the need to personally set the record straight.”

“Oh my god,” Phil whispered, “I knew Tommy mentioned a villain arc, but never did I think… he seemed to genuinely care about Tommy on the phone…”

“Oh, he does genuinely care about Tommy.” Schlatt felt a little sick at the thought. “Just possessively so.”

Phil looked like he was about to be sick. “Where’s Tommy now?”

Schlatt pointed to his left, which was the general direction of Tommy’s room. “He’s currently asleep, I hope. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was stubbornly staying awake right about now.”

Phil turned around, walking toward the door. “I’m speaking with him.”

Schlatt stood up. “Wait a second,” he said, “I want to make some things clear with you first.”

Phil turned around, crossing his arms. “You’re not exactly in a position to be making things clear with me, mate,” he said coldly, “I will not hesitate to put you down myself if you threaten me or my sons again.”

Schlatt shook his head, returning Phil’s glare. “Actually, this is _for_ your sons.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

“Under no circumstances will you kill Wilbur,” Schlatt began, “He is your _son,_ and he needs _therapy_ and probably some incarceration, but not _death_.”

Phil’s face darkened. “Okay, what’s going on?”

Schlatt frowned. “What do you mean?”

Phil took a step forward. “I _mean,_ that Tommy told me almost exactly the same thing,” he said, his voice sounding dangerous again, “Now, why would Tommy think that I would kill my own son? Were you the one who planted that idea into his head? Because that’s a pretty sick thing to do.”

Schlatt laughed humorlessly. “If you think that _I_ put that idea into his head, you have another thing coming.”

“Then who did?” Phil snarled, walking all the way up to Schlatt’s desk, “Because two people don’t simultaneously wake up thinking the same exact thing without any discernable reason.”

“Yeah, I think you’ll have to ask Tommy that,” Schlatt said, “Because it’s his business as much as mine, and I trust him to decide whether or not he wants to trust you.”

“ _Trust me?”_ Phil was practically spitting at this point, “This is about my _son._ As his father, I have the _right_ to know—”

“As his father, you should’ve been there for him since day one,” Schlatt snarled, “You should’ve come as soon as you heard that Tommy, who is a damn _teenager,_ was fighting in an adult’s war.”

Phil slammed his hand against the desk, leaning forward. “Don’t tell me how I should—”

“I think I will,” Schlatt interrupted, leaning in close himself, “Because of your negligence, you have one son under the impression that nobody loves him, another son who feels horrifically uncomfortable in healthy relationships, and another son who has lost his freaking finger.”

Phil gaped. “His finger?”

Schlatt gestured to the box still sitting on the desk. “You can take a look if you’d like.”

Silence filled the room as Schlatt watched Phil carefully pick up the box and open it. Phil blanched.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice wavering. Schlatt vaguely wondered if he was going to puke. It wouldn’t be the first time someone puked all over these floors. Schlatt being the first time, of course.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

Phil snapped the box shut, slamming the thing back down on the desk.

“Who did this?” Phil demanded, still sounding like he wanted to puke, “Was it Wilbur?”

“We’re not one-hundred-percent sure,” Schlatt admitted, giving the box a look of mistrust, “But we do know that it was probably Dream’s idea.”

Phil’s face darkened. “I’m going to kill him,” he growled, turning back toward the door.

“Hold up,” Schlatt said quickly. Phil snapped his head toward Schlatt, giving him a dangerous look. Schlatt raised his arms in surrender. “Listen, I’m all for killing Dream, but the simple fact of the matter is that we have no idea where he is.”

“I’ll find him,” Phil said confidently, “And then I’ll take Wilbur home and save Techno—”

“One thing at a time,” Schlatt interrupted, “First thing in the morning, you are speaking to Tommy. I understand that you want to save Technoblade and knock some sense into Wilbur, we all do, but for once in your life, you need to be there for Tommy.”

Phil glared. “You don’t tell me how I’ve screwed up, because whatever I’ve done, you’ve done worse.”

“I agree,” Schlatt said, “But that’s not actually the point. Tommy needs you, so be there for him damnit.”

“Wilbur and Techno need me too.”

“Well then be there for Tommy, call Wilbur, and help us save Techno when the time comes,” Schlatt said, “But I’ve had enough of you ignoring Tommy when he needs you most.”

Schlatt had thought for sure that Phil would’ve taken Tommy away from exile instantly after seeing that Tommy was still sleeping in a freaking _tent,_ after seeing that Tommy was thin, scarred, and miserable.

He had been sorely disappointed. He wasn’t about to be disappointed again.

Phil’s glare didn’t abate, but he sighed and said, “Fine.”

Schlatt nodded. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I implied that Dream was going to give up on manipulating Techno, but that would be a very out-of-character thing for Dream to do, so he's back at it.
> 
> Schlatt is ready to call Phil out for his B- parenting. Phil is ready to call Schlatt out for his literal terribleness before the story started. Both of them are ready to call a truce to kill Dream. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, please be nice in the comments, and thank you for reading! <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo and Tommy admit a few truths. Phil tries to talk to his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: nightmares, ptsd, implied/referenced child abuse, touch-starved behaviors, traumatized behaviors, implied/referenced alcoholic violence, idk what else to say

Tommy was back in Pogtopia. He could hear the sound of hissing, like something was about to blow up, but he couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. He braced for impact.

The hissing stopped. Nothing happened.

Slowly, Tommy looked around, confused about the anomaly. Why hadn’t there been any explosions? There were always explosions.

“Hey, Tomathy,” a familiar voice said, turning Tommy’s heart to ice.

Tommy spun around. Dream was standing there, wearing that stupid mask.

“Dream?” Tommy whispered. He stumbled backwards. What was Dream doing here? How did Dream find him?

“Put your armor in the hole, Tommy,” Dream said quietly.

Tommy fumbled with his armor straps, looking for the hole. He couldn’t see anything but the flat stone floor of the ravine.

“Where’s the hole?” he asked dumbly.

Tommy let out a startled shout as Dream smacked him.

“The hole is right there,” Dream said, his voice cold, “Don’t play dumb.”

Tommy looked over at where Dream was pointing, and sure enough, there was a hole recently dug into the ground. Tommy quickly dropped his armor inside.

Dream placed down the TNT and lit it, causing Tommy’s armor to disappear in the small explosion. Tommy flinched.

Dream’s voice changed in inflection, sounding… kinder, for lack of a better word.

“Oh Tommy,” he cooed, “You don’t need to worry. I’ll protect you.”

They were standing in the kitchen of Tommy’s old home, back before he and Wilbur took off for adventure. He didn’t question how they had gotten there.

Tommy watched in horrified fascination as Dream took off his mask, revealing… Wilbur’s face.

Tommy’s heart pounded against his chest so hard that it hurt. Dream was Wilbur this entire time? But, but that didn’t make any sense.

“It’s okay,” Wilbur said, that unstable glint in his eyes, “I’m here.”

Tommy wanted to run, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t say anything. It was as if some invisible force had lodged him to the spot he was standing.

Wilbur pulled him into a hug, and Tommy wanted to puke.

Wilbur gasped, blood dribbling out of his mouth, and Tommy jerked away to see a sword protruding from his chest. Tommy quickly looked for the culprit, only to see Phil standing above a now collapsed Wilbur.

“You were supposed to save me,” Ghostbur said, “Why didn’t you save me?”

“I tried,” Tommy pleaded, “Please, I tried.”

“You’re a liability,” Schlatt said, “I think it’s back to exile with you.”

And Dream was standing in front of him, his mask smiling dangerously, and Tommy wanted to run, he needed to get away, _please—_

Tommy snapped his eyes open, suddenly aware of the blankets and fresh air rubbing against his skin.

He was in the bedroom in Manberg. Rolled to the side, Tommy could see Clementine sleeping next to him. Next to Clementine, Tubbo was also sleeping, his arm draped across Clementine’s fur.

His heart was still trying to break the world record for most beats per minute, so Tommy took a shuddering breath, hoping to calm it down.

“Tommy?” Tubbo whispered, his eyes opening suddenly.

Tommy began running his fingers through Clementine’s fur, causing the dog to blink awake. She didn’t move abruptly, though, so that was nice.

“Hey,” Tommy said quietly, “Go back to sleep. Just a nightmare.”

Tubbo pulled out his communicator, glancing at something. Tommy watched as Tubbo sat up.

“Nah,” he said, “It’s already five am.”

Tommy blinked. “You wake up at five am?”

“Sometimes,” Tubbo said, sounding way to chipper for someone who had been woken up at _five am._ Tubbo climbed out of the bed. “Sometimes it’s around four-thirty, or even four on particularly busy days.”

Tommy stared at Tubbo, making no move to sit up or get out of the bed. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

Sure, Tommy woke up at unearthly hours as well, but that was mostly due to things like nightmares, not _work._

Tubbo opened the closet and pulled out a suit. Tommy blinked, finally pulling himself into a sitting position.

“Why the hell is there a suit in the closet?” Tommy demanded.

Tubbo shrugged, peeling off his shirt. “There’s a suit in almost all of the closets in the white house. It’s so we can make a quick change in case any incidents stained our clothes.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “What sort of ‘incidents’?”

“Um… anything really,” Tubbo said, his voice more fake and high-pitched than before.

“ _Tubbo…”_ Tommy said suspiciously.

Tubbo sighed as he shoved his suit on. “Listen,” he said, “Sometimes Schlatt… he would get these fits, y’know? Back when he was still drinking, I mean. So, uh, sometimes we’d get a little splashed with wine. It happens.”

Tommy pulled himself out of bed, crossing his arms. “Okay, first of all, it does not just _happen._ Second of all, you’re hiding something.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes, pulling his tie around his neck. “Tommy, if we’re going to talk in terms of hiding something, you are definitely not one to talk.”

Tommy hated to admit it, but Tubbo had a point. He was keeping basically everything unpleasant about his relationships with Wilbur and Dream under lock and key, with the exceptions of what Tubbo saw personally.

Tommy hated the idea of opening up, of telling Tubbo how pathetic and weak he had been around Dream. But… if it got Tubbo to open up, then maybe Tommy could stand doing it, just this once.

With a groan, Tommy said, “If I tell you one thing about exile, will you tell me one thing you’re hiding?”

Tubbo’s jaw dropped, his hands stilling half-way through straightening his tie.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Tommy asked impatiently, already regretting this decision.

Tubbo snapped his mouth shut, nodding. “Um, yes, if you’re comfortable, that is, I don’t want—”

Tommy snorted, trying to hide the anxiety that was trying to twist knots in his stomach. “I suggested it.”

Tubbo gave Tommy a small smile that didn’t stick. “Fair enough.”

“Okay.” Tommy took a deep breath. He could do this. He could do this. “Um… when I was in exile, Dre-Dream would blow up my armor, um, daily.”

Tubbo stared at Tommy, looking horrified. Tommy hated it. He didn’t need Tubbo’s pity.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” Tommy snapped.

“Oh, right.” Tubbo rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, uh, it’s nothing much compared to Wilbur and Dream, that stuff was downright unpleasant, and I’m not sure—”

“Tubbo,” Tommy said in monotone, “Don’t be an idiot.”

Tubbo cringed, and Tommy winced.

“I just meant that it can still be... bad,” Tommy fumblingly elaborated, “You know?”

“Oh,” Tubbo said, sagging a little bit, “Well, um, sometimes blood would get on our suits. You, uh, you probably know how it is. Bloody nose. Maybe a few cuts from glass being thrown around.”

Tommy felt sick, but that quickly turned back around into boiling rage.

“I’m going to kill him,” Tommy growled, marching toward the door. Clementine leaped off of the bed and followed loyally.

“You can’t kill him,” Tubbo said tiredly.

“And why not?” Tommy demanded, spinning around to face Tubbo again, “He _hurt_ you, he _killed_ you! It’s not like he doesn’t currently have lives to spare!”

And besides, maybe the killing would get Schlatt to drop the nice-guy ruse, and Tommy could start figuring out how to deal with Schlatt’s methods of torment.

“ _Tommy,”_ Tubbo pleaded, “Schlatt has done nothing but try to help us since we time-jumped. Could you _please_ just give him a chance?”

Tubbo had a point. Schlatt _had_ almost died due to withdrawal, and if someone had told Tommy that Schlatt was ever going to do that a week ago, he would’ve laughed in their faces. Of course, it was possible Schlatt had just been trying to avoid another heart attack, who wouldn’t? But still, maybe Tubbo had a small point.

But only a small one.

Clenching his fists, Tommy took a deep breath.

“Fine,” he muttered, “But if lays _one hand_ on you—”

“Then you can kill him as many times as you’d like,” Tubbo said, smiling slightly, “But I really don’t think he’ll do that.”

“He’d better not,” Tommy muttered, crossing his arms again.

If Schlatt decided to be a massive jerk, he’d better do it with Tommy, not Tubbo.

“Well, I’m going to get some breakfast,” Tubbo yawned, straightening his tie and heading toward the door, “You coming with?”

Tommy hesitated. “Actually…” he said, “I think I’m going to take a shower. I feel kind of gross.”

Tubbo wrinkled his nose and nodded. “Not going to lie dude, you look kind of gross.”

Tommy gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know that you are way grosser than I will ever be.”

Tubbo laughed. “If you say so,” he said.

Tommy smiled. “I’ll see you later, Big T. Make sure you don’t eat all of the bacon.”

Tubbo opened the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to save plenty for you.”

After Tubbo closed the door behind him, Tommy re-opened it and crouched next to Clementine.

“Listen closely, Clem,” he said to his dog, who cocked her head at him, “I want you to follow Tubbo.” Tommy pointed in the direction of Tubbo’s disappearing form. “If anyone tries to hurt him, bite them.”

Clementine barked, so Tommy took it that she at least sort of understood what he said.

Or maybe Tommy was delusional. He wasn’t sure he particularly cared at the moment.

“Alright, make me proud.”

Clementine barked again and started dashing after Tubbo. Tommy saluted in her direction. Then, Tommy re-shut the door and went into the bathroom, which was attached to his bedroom.

Tommy made the water scalding, but Tommy didn’t really care that he was probably wasting all of the hot water in the White House. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. He sat in that shower, just letting the water droplets hit him like they were giving him a back massage, for way longer than any normal person would sit in a shower.

Finally, Tommy forced himself out of the shower and back into the real world. On the bright side, the mirror was all fogged up, so at least he didn’t have to look at his sunken cheeks and the dark bags that were probably under his eyes.

Tommy didn’t want to wear a suit—they were stiff; not to mention he hadn’t the slightest idea on how to tie a tie—so he went searched the dresser in the guest bedroom for some other clothes. Much to his relief, there were some jeans and a red sweater, so he wouldn’t be forced to wear his old, disgusting clothes.

Now, all that was left to be done was to track down Tubbo. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

Combing his hair with his fingers, Tommy exited his room and walked down the hall toward the kitchen. He hoped that Tubbo had made some coffee, because Tommy could really do with the caffeine right about now. He wasn’t like Wilbur; Wilbur seemed to use coffee as a coping mechanism, which was what the gapples were for.

Thinking about gapples reminded Tommy of Techno.

_Oh prime, Techno._

Tommy hadn’t thought about him _once_ so far this morning. Here Tommy was, enjoying nice showers and new clothes and a _dog,_ all while Techno was missing a finger and suffering at the hands of Dream and Wilbur.

Tommy froze in the middle of the hallway, staring at his hand. As he clenched and unclenched his fist, he tried to imagine not having all five of his fingers. He tried to imagine his own finger sitting on a red pillow.

Tommy’s stomach churned. He wasn’t sure he was hungry anymore.

He needed to save Techno. But he didn’t know where Techno was. Dream said to meet him in a week. But… there was no guarantee that Dream would even bring Techno with him. He had said he would tell Tommy where Techno was, but he never technically said that Techno would be at the coordinates. What if they launched this ambush and Techno wasn’t even there? What then?

Tommy needed to do something. He needed to talk to Dream, try to iron out the terms so that Tommy _knew_ that the plan would work. Desperate shots in the dark never did anything good for anyone.

If he wanted to talk to Dream, he needed a communicator, which he didn’t have. Schlatt said that he was getting one for Tommy, but Tommy took Schlatt’s word with a grain of salt. Besides, even if he _was_ getting one for Tommy, Tommy didn’t know Dream’s number. The chances of anyone giving it to him were very slim.

So, Tommy would just have to steal someone else’s communicator. Easy. Tommy was a master at the art of thievery.

And Tommy knew exactly the person he wanted to steal from.

Then again, Schlatt was probably carrying his communicator in his pocket, and Tommy couldn’t say he was the best pick-pocket in the world.

Oh well, Tommy would figure something out. He just needed to find Schlatt.

Tommy immediately spun around and started heading toward Schlatt’s office. Schlatt never seemed to leave that place. Maybe Tommy could trick him into giving him the communicator.

Tommy was snapped out of his thoughts by a familiar voice.

“Tommy, mate!”

Tommy automatically flinched at being addressed so suddenly.

He turned around to see _Phil_ walking toward him. He was frowning, and Tommy took an instinctive step back.

“Phil?” Tommy asked, his voice cracking.

Phil stopped about a foot in front of Tommy, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black robe. His black wings were shaking slightly. Was he… scared? Nervous?

Tommy was making stuff up, he had to be. Why would Phil be nervous? If anything, Tommy should be nervous around Phil, even though he was Tommy’s father.

“Hey, Toms—” Tommy tried not to flinch at the nickname. “—can we talk for a minute?”

“Uh… yeah,” Tommy said, careful to keep his voice form revealing any emotion, “We can talk.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do it out in the open,” Phil said, glancing around the hallway, which was currently empty.

Still, Tommy could see Phil’s point, so he followed Phil into a room full of maps. Phil closed the door behind them, and Tommy tried to keep his heart rate from spiking.

This was Phil. This wasn’t Schlatt. This wasn’t Wilbur. This wasn’t Dream. This was Phil. Phil had never hurt Tommy.

_He had killed Wilbur, that had hurt._

Phil had never _directly_ hurt Tommy.

Tommy would be fine.

As Phil leaned against the wall, looking into his son’s no-longer-bright blue eyes, he knew he had screwed up.

Now, Phil was already very aware of how much he had screwed up; Wilbur and Schlatt had made sure of that. (Not that Phil would ever admit to _Schlatt_ , the man who had exiled his children, of his flaws.) But seeing Tommy like this was like adding salt to the wound.

Tommy had flinched, _flinched,_ when Phil came up from behind. He had stepped away from Phil. His voice was closed off.

His eyes were dull.

What had happened to his son?

Schlatt’s voice echoed in his head, _“I think you’ll have to ask Tommy that.”_

However, Phil knew Tommy, and he knew that a direct question would probably be deflected.

Maybe… now would be a good time to gage the winds, see where Tommy was at in general.

“Hey mate,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle and inviting as possible, “Long time no see, huh?”

Tommy nodded, his face betraying no emotion. “Yeah. Haven’t seen you since we left for the SMP.”

Phil winced. He deserved that.

After waiting for a few moments for Tommy to continue the conversation and Tommy taking no such opening, Phil decided that maybe it would be simpler to just get it over with.”

“Tommy,” Phil whispered, “What happened to you?”

Tommy laughed, but it wasn’t that same loud, bright laugh that Phil had always heard from Tommy. This laugh was… humorless. Broken.

Phil’s heart felt like it had snapped in half.

“A whole ton of crap,” Tommy said blandly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “But I’m pretty sure you already knew that.”

“Schlatt has as good as told me that there’s something more than meets the eye going on here,” Phil said, his voice becoming slightly firmer, “I just… I want to know why you would both think I would kill Wilbur.”

Tommy’s face paled, and Phil wanted nothing more than to pull his son into an embrace as Tommy stumbled a few more steps back. But he didn’t, instead watching his son as he glared at Phil.

“I don’t need to tell you crap,” Tommy said, his voice wavering, “I don’t owe you anything.”

Phil wanted to protest. He wanted to demand to know what was going on. Why had Schlatt suddenly become the paragon of virtue? Why had both Schlatt and Tommy had the same horrific thought? Why was Tommy like _this_? What the hell was going on?

But Tommy looked so very afraid, despite the anger he was showing. Phil knew that yelling or even a simple command might either cause his son to shatter in front of him or drive him farther away. Phil didn’t want either of those.

“You’re right,” Phil said quietly, “You don’t owe me anything. But I’m your father, and I want to help you.”

For whatever reason, these words only made Tommy’s scowl deepen.

“Then why didn’t you?” he demanded, his voice lowering to a low growl, “Where the _hell_ have you been?”

Phil flinched.

“I thought you were old enough to fight in your own wars,” Phil admitted, guilt squeezing his chest, “I realize now I was wrong.”

“Do you think I care about the wars?!” Tommy shouted.

 _You should,_ Phil thought grimly to himself.

Tommy yanked his hands out of his pockets and began gesturing wildly. “I don’t care about the wars! I care about Wilbur! He’s been struggling and if you had just _been there_ and if you had just _tried_ to help him, maybe he wouldn’t be like this. But _no,_ he hands you a sword once, and you decide that killing him is the only option. We didn’t even give him a funeral!”

The room was dead silent, like a photo of glass right as it was about to hit the ground.

Tommy took another step back, staring at Phil with gut-wrenching fear. Phil watched as Tommy ran his fingers through his hair and let out a shuddering breath.

“Damnit,” his son muttered, curling in on himself, “Damnit, you really did it this time, Tommy.”

“Toms,” Phil began, his voice wavering. Tommy flinched at the nickname, and Phil tried not to think about what that meant. He tried not to think about what _any of it_ meant. “Wilbur’s alive. I didn’t kill him.”

“I know that, idiot,” Tommy snapped, straightening from his original curled position, “I’m not _stupid.”_

He said the last word almost like a plea, almost like he needed confirmation that he wasn’t stupid. Where was the self-confidence Tommy used to possess in leaps and bounds?

_What had happened to his son?_

“You’re not stupid,” Phil agreed, his voice almost to a whisper, “Which is why I don’t understand what you were talking about earlier.”

Tommy muttered something under his breath before throwing his arms in the air in a seemingly ‘ _I give up’_ gesture.

“We’re from the future,” Tommy said, “Believe it or don’t. I’m not sure I care anymore.”

And with that, Tommy left the room, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... today's stream was... pleasant (2/21). I low key want to create a one-shot for it, but I'm running really short on time before i have to go to bed, so i guess we'll see how it goes. 
> 
> Anyway, plot notes, um... honestly, I don't have much to say. Phil's trying. Tommy's 'coping.' Tubbo's got plenty of problems of his own. Y'know, the usual. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please be nice in comments! <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy talks to Wilbur, Dream, Techno, and Phil. 
> 
> He also steals Schlatt's communicator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: manipulation, suicidal thoughts and tendencies, child abuse, mental illness, possessive behavior, guilt, self-hatred

Tommy wanted to die.

He wasn’t even sure if he was being melodramatic anymore.

Because Phil had finally come, Phil had finally tried to be there for him, and Tommy shoved him away, _like he always did._ Because Tommy wasn’t anything more than a spoiled brat who pushed people away until he was alone. Because nobody loved Tommy in the first place.

_Because everyone who had ever promised to protect him had only hurt him instead._

Nothing made sense anymore; it was like the world had been tilted. Schlatt wasn’t evil. Phil wanted to help. Techno lost.

At least Dream was still a manipulative jerk, at least Tommy could cling onto that constant, if nothing else.

As Tommy ran down the halls, away from Phil, away from _everyone,_ he pulled the small slip of paper out of his pocket. The one that had caused him so much fear, so much panic.

_I can’t wait for us to have more fun together._

_-Your only friend, Dream_

Come to think of it, how did Dream even know what buttons to push for Tommy to become a pathetic mess? How did Dream know what exactly would cause Tommy to crumble to his will? Dream shouldn’t know _any_ of that.

And a horrible realization hit Tommy like a truck, and he skidded to a halt in the middle of the hallway.

Dream was like him. Dream was like Tubbo. Dream was like Schlatt.

Dream was from the future.

Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? Had he just forgotten? Was he really that stupid? Did everyone else already know?

 _Your friend, your only friend, “I’m your friend, Tommy”, “That’s what friends are for”, “You betrayed_ me!”

“Kid?”

Tommy jumped, looking up from the note now slightly crumpled up in his hand. Schlatt was standing about three feet away from him, looking… concerned?

That was the stupidest thing Tommy had ever heard. Schlatt didn’t get concerned. Schlatt was _evil._ He had hurt Tubbo. Schlatt was probably pretending, probably trying to make Tommy think that they were friends, trying to gain a pawn.

Tubbo might trust Schlatt, but Tommy didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him.

“What do you want?” Tommy spat, scowling.

Schlatt shrugged. “I was just going to get some breakfast,” he said, sounding _calm,_ like Tommy hadn’t made the worst discovery of his life, “Do you want to come with?”

Tommy made sure that his scowl conveyed the sheer level of hatred he felt toward Schlatt before replying.

“No, but you know what I do want?” he asked, suddenly remembering what he was doing before being accosted by Phil.

Schlatt raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t frowning. Tommy couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

“What’s that?” Schlatt asked, sounding open to anything, which was ridiculous, because Schlatt only ever wanted to do things his way.

“Your communicator,” Tommy said, holding out his hand like Dream would whenever he’d demand any of Tommy’s items.

Schlatt was apparently stupider than Tommy had previously thought, because he actually started taking his communicator out of his pocket.

“May I ask what you want it for?” Schlatt asked as he held it out to Tommy.

“Nope,” Tommy said, popping the ‘p.’ He snatched the communicator out of Schaltt’s hand and _ran,_ hearing a startled cry from Schlatt.

Exhilaration rushed through Tommy’s veins. That had been _too_ easy. He had just _stolen_ from the _president_. More importantly, he had just stolen from _Schlatt._

A more logical part of him said that if Schlatt gave it to him, it wasn’t really stealing. Tommy squashed down that logical part. Would an innocent man run?

Tommy let out a gleeful whoop as he skidded around the corner of one of the halls, ignoring the startled glances other members of the staff were giving him.

Eventually, after he had dashed up all of the flights of stairs and ended up on the top floor, exhaustion caught up with Tommy. He stopped near a large window, gasping for breath.

That had been… just… so great.

Tommy looked down at the communicator in his hand. _Schlatt’s_ communicator. Tommy laugh. Schlatt’s face was probably hilarious right about now; the ram was probably _furious—_

And all of Tommy’s excitement crashed down into overwhelming dread.

What had Tommy been thinking, stealing Schlatt’s communicator? That sort of behavior was what got Tubbo to exile him in the first place. And now Tommy had gone ahead and made Schlatt needlessly angry. Was he going to take it out on Tubbo?

He should go back. Tommy knew he should go back now and return the communicator before it was too late, or before the situation got worse than it already was.

But he couldn’t. Whenever he thought about going back, he got overwhelming panic very reminiscent that had overwhelmed him when Tommy had ever entertained the idea of returning Logstedshire, like he was marching to his grave. Not to mention, Tommy still hadn’t talked to Dream. Tommy _needed_ to talk to Dream.

Prime, he couldn’t even make try to make amends right.

_Coward. Selfish. Screw-up._

Clementine would take care of Tubbo, Tommy was pretty sure. And Phil was there too; he wouldn’t let Schlatt hurt anyone. When the time was right, Tommy would come back and accept the punishment he deserved, but for now…

Tommy glanced at the window next to him, and the next thing he knew, he was undoing the latch with a small and prying the window open. He shivered slightly at the cold air that filled the hall, and he was suddenly grateful for the fact he was wearing a sweater instead of a T-shirt.

Tommy carefully climbed onto the edge of the window and glanced up to gage the distance from the window to the roof. It was only about a couple of feet, so Tommy grabbed onto the fancy molding around the window and pulled himself up. Then he clutched onto the edge of the roof of the White House and heaved himself over.

Now sitting on the roof of the White House with his feet dangling, Tommy had a pretty good view of L’manberg. Or _Manberg,_ as Schlatt liked to call it.

Wilbur’s country actually looked nice from here, even if it was too dark to make out most of it. It looked like it had before the explosions went off and the withers were spawned and everyone had to start all over again.

Tommy tried not to think about a time when he stood on another roof, watching helplessly as Technoblade shot Tubbo full of fireworks. Tommy tried not to think of a time when he stood on a giant pole, ready to end it.

So instead, Tommy looked back down at Schlatt’s communicator and pulled up the call function.

And there, at the very top of the recently called column, was _Wilbur Soot._

When had Schlatt called Wilbur?

Without thinking, Tommy clicked on Wilbur’s name and held the communicator up to his ear, dully listening to the ringing as he watched the morning sky slowly lighten.

Tommy jolted when Wilbur’s aggravated voice came on the other line.

“I swear, Phil, if this is you, I will—”

“Wil?”

Tommy’s voice broke at the name, but he was too busy clutching onto the communicator like it was Wilbur himself to care.

There was an abrupt silence. Then, Wilbur whispered,

“Tommy?”

Tommy hugged his knees to his chest, his heels firmly placed on the edge of the roof. His toes were poking over the side.

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed, “It’s me.”

“Tommy, Toms, baby, how are you talking to me?” Wilbur’s voice sounded desperate, rushed, worried. “Did you escape? Why do you have Schlatt’s communicator?”

Tommy let out a small chuckle. “I stole it,” he said, “sorta.”

Wilbur let out a chilling laugh that reverberated through the communicator. Tommy shrunk into his sweater.

“That’s my boy,” Wilbur said fondly.

Tommy smiled in spite of himself.

“Tommy, where are you?” Wilbur’s voice became suddenly serious. “I can go pick you up. We’re hidden in a place where nobody in Manberg can find us.”

Tommy’s heart picked up. This was an opportunity. He could maybe convince Wilbur to tell him where exactly he’s hidden. He could save Techno. He could get Wilbur away from Dream.

“You can’t tell me where you are?” Tommy demanded, trying to inject some of his old forcefulness into his voice, “Wouldn’t be easier if I just came to you?”

Guilt stabbed at Tommy’s chest, but he pushed it aside. Techno needed him. Wilbur would understand. Eventually.

Or it would just make things way worse.

A low chuckle emerged from the phone, and Tommy flinched.

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” Wilbur said, sounding amused, “How do I know someone isn’t listening into this conversation right now? It’s far safer if we have a separate rendezvous, and then I’ll kill anyone who dared track you down.”

Tommy’s stomach churned at the blood-thirstiness in Wilbur’s voice. He almost sounded like Techno when he gave into the voices _._ He almost sounded like _Dream._

Tommy hated himself for making that comparison. It wasn’t remotely the same. At least Wilbur’s love was real.

Right?

Speaking of Dream…

Tommy swallowed. “Do you trust Dream?”

Silence.

“Oh, Toms, I don’t trust anyone,” Wilbur said, his voice sounding confident, “I know he scares you, but Dream’s been incredibly useful as of late, so I’m allowing him to help me for now.”

“Dream’s been lying to you,” Tommy said, willing his voice not to shake, “He doesn’t want to help you.”

“The moment he betrays me, I’ll discard him,” Wilbur said, sounding impatient, “Honestly, Tommy, I’m just doing what’s best.”

That was _it._

“You’re not using him!” Tommy shouted, “He’s using you! Why won’t you see that? The only thing Dream wants is _me_! But you’re so up in your head ‘oh, I’m Wilbur, I’m going to trust this idiot in a mask because he said he’d—’”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Wilbur snapped, “I frankly don’t care what Dream wants. He’s willing to help me get you back, so that’s all that matters.”

“Aren’t you listening to me?” Tommy demanded, “He wants _me._ He’ll steal me away from you before you can blink! Why are you trusting him?!”

“ _Tommy!”_

Tommy stopped breathing. Wilbur let out a loud sigh.

“Thank god, you shut up,” he moaned, “Tommy, you’re being foolish. I’ve got Dream perfectly under control. Now, _where are you?”_

It was a demand. A demand that Tommy forced himself to ignore.

“Why did you hurt Techno?” Tommy asked shortly.

Wilbur’s voice darkened. “He was a traitor. He helped Manberg steal you from me.”

That wasn’t quite true, but Tommy was too afraid of what would happen if he corrected him.

“He’s our _brother.”_ Tommy shut his eyes, trying to shut out the memory of Techno trying to hurt _him._

“He’s no brother of mine.” Based on the vitriol in Wilbur’s voice, Tommy could tell that he believed it too.

“Why?” Tommy demanded, “What makes me any different, what makes me—”

“Because you’re the only thing I have anymore, Tommy!” Wilbur shouted, his voice beating against Tommy’s eardrums, “You’re the _only_ thing! Fundy’s gone, _L’manberg’s_ gone, and you’re all I have left. You’re my only reason for living right now, so I _swear_ —”

“ _You’re my only reason for living right now.” “He wanted me to kill him.”_

Tommy’s breath caught in his throat, and he found himself staring past his toes and toward the ground, so far away from the roof he was sitting on.

“You’ve thought about killing yourself?” Tommy asked abruptly, cutting Wilbur’s rant short.

Wilbur sounded shaken, _shaken,_ when he spoke next.

“I-I don’t— _god,_ Tommy. Yeah, I guess I have. What of it?”

And like little pieces of a puzzle, things began to click together. The reason Wilbur made Tommy president, even though he was about to blow the place to bits. The reason Tommy would be making his speech right on top of TNT that would kill him instantly.

“If-if I were to jump off this roof right now, would you kill yourself?” Tommy wanted to rip his eyes away from the fall he was hypothetically condemning himself to, but he couldn’t look away.

“Are you on a roof?!” Wilbur exclaimed, “Tommy, Tommy, get down from there right now. Wilbur’s coming for you. Please, get down, get down, Tommy, get down _right this instant,_ why aren’t you answering me _damnit!”_

Tommy didn’t curl in on himself, but he wanted to.

“I’m not going to jump,” Tommy muttered, “I was just asking.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll try again. Would you kill me if you planned on killing yourself?”

“Where are you, Tommy?” Wilbur asked shortly.

Tommy gritted his teeth in frustration. “Answer the damn question first.”

“Tommy, I’m only going to ask this one more time,” Wilbur said, his voice now conveying a very real threat, _“Where. Are. You?”_

Tommy flinched away from his communicator, and the words stumbled out before he could stop them.

“I’m on top of the roof of the White House,” he said, “You won’t be able to get to me from here.”

Tommy hung up the call before he could hear Wilbur’s reply.

Tommy didn’t want to think about what Wilbur’s call meant, so he instantly scrolled through the contacts list until he found Dream’s number. He jammed on it violently.

Dream answered almost instantly.

“Hello, Tomathy,” he said smoothly, “I hope you’re wearing a jacket up there.”

Tommy felt ice crawl up his bones. How did Dream know? How did Dream know that he wasn’t Schlatt? How did Dream know that Tommy was up on the roof? Was Dream watching him right now?

“How—”

Dream laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah, I would, moron,” Tommy snapped, throwing caution to the winds, “That’s why I asked.”

“ _Tommy_ ,” Dream said warningly, “Watch your tone.”

Tommy shrunk back before remembering where he was. He wasn’t in Logstedshire anymore. Dream couldn’t control him.

“And why should I?” Tommy demanded, “You’re nowhere near me—” He hoped. “—you can’t do crap.”

Tommy could just _hear_ the head tilt in Dream’s voice. “Oh?” he asked, “But what about Techno? He’s in the room with me right now. I could always just—”

“Woah, wait, wait, wait,” Tommy hurriedly rushed out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, don’t hurt Techno, please don’t hurt Techno.”

Dream hummed, and Tommy focused his vision on his toes. “Well, since you asked _so_ politely, I suppose I won’t. Who knows, maybe if you behave yourself enough, I let you speak to him.”

Hope surged through Tommy’s body. “Really?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dream said casually, “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Tommy buried his face in his knees. “Yeah,” he whispered, “Yeah, that would.”

“See?” Dream’s voice sounded triumphant. He hated it. “See how easy it is to be civil? Honestly, Tommy, those people are a bad influence on you. Why are you even trusting _Schlatt_ in the first place?”

Tommy flinched. “I-he-Tubbo—”

“Tubbo exiled you,” Dream said, like he was teaching a school-lesson.

“I know that,” Tommy snapped, irritated, “But he’s—”

“What did we say about being good?” Dream asked softly.

If Tommy could curl up any more than he already had in his precarious spot on the roof, he would’ve done so. Shame burned at his insides.

“Right,” Tommy whispered, “Sorry. Please, it won’t happen again. Please, I just want to speak to Techno.”

“And I might,” Dream said breezily, “But I assume you had a reason for calling? Unless you just missed me.”

Tommy bit back a ‘ _you wish.’_

“You-you said that Tubbo and I would meet you at the coordinates you sent,” Tommy said shakily, “I just… I just wanted to make sure that Techno would actually be there.”

“You’re not exactly in the position to make demands, Tommy,” Dream said warningly. Dream sighed, and Tommy tensed. “But, since I’m so generous, yes he’ll be there.”

“Really?” Tommy asked, “You’re not lying?”

“Oh, Tommy,” Dream tutted, “Why would I lie?”

Because that’s all Dream ever did. He _lied,_ and _hurt,_ and… _no, Dream was his friend; Dream only wanted what’s best for him._

No, Dream was a horrible person.

Tommy hated how mixed up his mind got at times like these. Why did he think calling Dream was a good idea? It only made him more miserable.

“Is that all you wanted to ask?” Dream asked.

Tommy nodded before remembering that he was talking on a phone. “Yes.”

“Okay, you can speak to Techno since you mostly behaved yourself,” Dream said, “I’m being generous, you know.”

“I know.” Tommy shut his eyes, his head still in his knees. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was silence on the line, and Tommy waited with bated breath, waiting for Techno’s voice to come on the phone.

“Tommy?”

Techno’s voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t used it often, and there was a underlying _something_ underneath his tone. But Tommy didn’t care, because it was Techno, and he was alive, and he could still speak, and Tommy could hear him.

“Techno,” Tommy whispered. He cringed. Why was he whispering at Technoblade? That was embarrassing. “Technoblade,” he said a little more loudly this time, “Are you alright?” He winced. “Dumb question, sorry, sorry. Are you hanging in there? Please tell me Dream hasn’t been trying any of his mind-screwery with you—”

“Tommy,” Techno interrupted, more gently than Wilbur had earlier, “I’m fine. A little banged up, but fine.”

“I saw what happened to your finger,” Tommy whispered.

This time, Techno’s voice was colored with anger. “Schlatt showed that to you?”

“No,” Tommy said loudly, “Dream or someone stuck it on my windowsill. It was in a nice cushy box too.”

Techno let out a curse under his breath, but Tommy heard it anyway. “Well, I promise you that I’m fine, despite the unfortunate incident with my finger. Don’t worry about me.”

Tommy bit his lip; he was not all that comforted.

But it was nice to hear Techno’s voice again.

Just with thinking that thought, Tommy must’ve jinxed it or something, because Dream’s voice was next to emerge from the communicator.

“Well, that’s all the Techno time you’re getting today,” he said brightly, “We’ll see you in six days.”

“Bye,” Tommy said tightly, unsure if he wanted to shout or cower.

He decided to end the call instead, finally taking his head out of his knees to press the necessary button with a freeing beep.

Tommy could now see the proper beginnings of the sunrise on the horizon, with the sky turning slightly orange. It was peaceful.

The communicator buzzed, and Tommy looked down dully to see a new message pop up on the screen.

_Philza Minecraft: Tommy, where are you_

_Philza Minecraft: I want to talk_

_Philza Minecraft: please_

Tommy sighed. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk to Phil yet, but this morning had already been full of uncomfortable conversations, so he might as well just get this one out of the way too.

_TommyInnit: The roof._

Tommy wasn’t sure how long he waited for the familiar sound of Phil’s flapping wings… not long, he was pretty sure. The sun had begun to paint the clouds with shades of pink as Phil landed next to Tommy’s seated position on the roof.

A part of Tommy told him to stop hugging his knees like a lonely child. The rest of him didn’t care enough to move.

“I remember sitting on the roof when I was younger,” Phil said, sitting down maybe two feet from Tommy.

Tommy didn’t say anything.

Phil sighed, and Tommy winced.

“I talked to Schlatt and Tubbo,” Phil said quietly, “Fundy too.”

“Let me guess,” Tommy said dully, “Fundy knows too now.”

“Yeah,” Phil said quietly, “He was pretty ticked that he hadn’t been told sooner.”

“Sounds like him,” Tommy muttered.

“Schlatt told me some… upsetting things,” Phil continued, his wings twitching slightly.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Spare me the pity party,” he said, “I lived through it; it’s over. Just tell me why you’re here.”

Phil slumped and let out a breathy laugh, taking his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, that’s fair.” There was a small pause. “I’m here to apologize.”

Tommy froze. What?

“For what?” Tommy asked.

“For everything,” Phil said, “For prioritizing Techno. For not coming sooner. For not being there while you were hurting. For… for killing Wilbur.”

“You didn’t do that,” Tommy said.

“Maybe not in this timeline,” Phil said, his voice sounding strange, “But I did it in another, so I’ll apologize anyway.”

Tommy put his head in his hands. “I’m sick of apologies.”

Techno apologized. Schlatt apologized. Tubbo apologized. Phil apologized. Heck, even _Fundy_ apologized that one time.

Wilbur hadn’t apologized. Dream would _never_ apologize.

No more words were exchanged between them. And, as Tommy watched the sun rise, he tried to pretend he could feel at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to have Fundy in it. That did not come to pass. 
> 
> Y'all I am in awe of how popular this story has become... you guys are just the best. Thank you so much. 
> 
> Wilbur's redemption arc is still going, even though none of you can see it. I cannot wait for the Wilbur's interlude so that you guys can finally see the full picture. 
> 
> Um... Phil's trying in a good way, Dream's trying in a bad way, and Techno can't do much. Where's Clementine when you need her? (oh right with tubbo whoops)
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please be nice in the comments! <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fundy pops off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: implied/referenced child abuse, yelling, implied/referenced child neglect, ptsd, referenced death

Phil remembered being Tommy’s age.

He remembered feeling invisible against the world as he went from adventure to adventure, never staying in one place, always reaching higher and higher.

He met Kristin when he was twenty. It might sound cliché, but she calmed down his adventurous spirit, allowed him to create roots. He found Technoblade when he was twenty-two. Kristin found Wilbur a year later.

Tommy was born when he was twenty-seven. Kristin died on the same day. Grief threatened to swallow him whole, but he kept his head above water for his children’s sake, at the very least.

Still, after Kristin’s death, it got increasingly harder to ignore the call of the old days, of fighting monsters and exploring new dimensions. But Phil had a family to think of, so he stayed. He watched as Tommy took his first steps as Wilbur and Techno grew older and more mature.

But sometimes Phil worried there was a disconnect. A hole that Kristin had left behind and Phil could never hope to fill.

When Techno showed proficiency in the sword, Phil jumped on it. This was something he could teach his son; this was something he could show him; this was some way that he could be a good father.

Wilbur was more into music and the arts. Thinking about those things hurt Phil. They reminded him of Kristin.

He still taught Wilbur how to use a sword and bow; he still tried to express the undying love he felt his son. But Wilbur was less interested in those things, and Phil wasn’t sure how else he could involve himself in his son’s life.

So, he didn’t. Between training Techno and raising Tommy and keeping everyone healthy, he pushed Wilbur to the side without even realizing it.

He started going back on adventures when Tommy was about ten years old. He couldn’t ignore the call, and Techno was plenty old enough to come along. Wilbur was old enough to take care of Tommy while they were gone.

And they weren’t gone for _too_ often, Phil didn’t think. He came back for birthdays and holidays, and when Wilbur and Tommy struck on their own, Phil didn’t think much of it. Phil had been on his own when he was younger than their age.

Maybe that was why he didn’t think much of the wars his sons had involved themselves in. Phil had been fighting since he was a teen. It didn’t occur to him that there was something wrong with that image.

Maybe that sounded pathetic. Maybe Phil was a coward. Maybe he deserved every word Schlatt said.

Because now Phil understood that he was wrong. Now Phil understood that he had hurt Wilbur in not connecting with him. Now Phil understood that teenager should _not_ be involved in adult wars.

Because Tommy was sitting next to him on top of a very high roof, and he didn’t have wings. Tommy couldn’t catch himself if he fell, and Phil had a sickening fear that Tommy wouldn’t want to.

Especially after what Schlatt and Tubbo had told him. _Time travel. Phil killing Wilbur._

Just thinking about it made Phil want to rip his own feathers out.

He needed to say something. He needed to prove to his son that he loved him. He couldn’t make the same mistake he made with Wilbur. He needed to promise Tommy that he would save Wilbur, that he would be there for Tommy, that he wouldn’t screw up like the last time.

He had already apologized, but that wasn’t nearly enough to express what Phil wanted to express to Tommy, his youngest, the one who had endured _so much_ while Phil just sat on the sidelines.

But how could he possibly put that into words? How could Phil possibly explain that?

After about an hour of Phil being a coward and just sitting silently with Tommy, who didn’t seem to want to talk _at all_ , Phil finally took a deep breath.

“I’m going to make things right,” he promised, causing Tommy to look up at him in surprise, “I’ll make sure things are better this time, or I’ll die trying.”

Tommy laughed humorlessly, and Phil couldn’t ignore the way it felt like a needle in his chest.

“I think it might be too late for that,” Tommy muttered, looking back over the view of Manberg.

“There’s always hope,” Phil promised, “And I swear, this time I’ll be there. This time you won’t have to go it alone.”

For whatever reason, this only caused Tommy to wrap his arms around himself and look away.

Phil got a ping on his communicator, and he glanced down to see a new message from Tubbo.

_Tubbo: Is he alright?_

_Tubbo: Tell him to come down so that I can give him Clementine._

_Tubbo: Tell him that Clementine needs him for emotional support_

Who the hell was Clementine? Was she Tommy’s girlfriend? Somehow Phil doubted that Tommy had a girlfriend, but anything was possible, he supposed.

“Tubbo tells me to tell you that Clementine needs you for emotional support,” Phil said slowly, looking at his son to gage his reaction, “Who’s Clementine?”

Tommy straightened, scowling indignantly. “ _Clementine,”_ he said, “Is a very good girl and is keeping an eye on Tubbo for me because he needs her more than I do.”

Yeah, that really only created more questions than answers.

“So… is she your friend?” Phil asked.

Tommy huffed. “I hope so,” he muttered, “Man’s best friend and all that.”

 _Oh_. Phil remembered seeing a dog loyally following Tubbo around. That dog must be Clementine. Mystery solved. No girlfriends yet.

“Oh,” Phil said, “She’s a dog.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Well that’s a very rude thing for you to say, Phil,” he said, “Imagine if I were talking about you, and I said ‘oh, he’s a hybrid’ like that’s the only thing important about you.”

Phil held back a laugh, but he couldn’t stop the smile forming on his face. “You’re right, sorry, mate.”

He glanced back at his communicator. “But why does Tubbo want you to have her so bad?”

Tommy shrugged. “Probably because she’s technically a gift that Tubbo gave to me. ‘Therapy’ or something like that. But Tubbo needs therapy too, so I told Clementine to follow him around for a bit.”

Prime, that was so damn pure that Phil had to stop himself from enveloping his son in a hug then and there.

“We can get Tubbo his own therapy dog,” Phil said, “Just because Tubbo’s also hurting doesn’t mean you don’t need help as well.”

Tommy scowled and crossed his arms across his chest. “I’m fine.”

Yeah, somehow Phil doubted that they would be having a conversation on a roof if Tommy was just ‘fine.’

“Okay,” Phil said, carefully standing up, “Come on, you should eat breakfast.”

Tommy looked away. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well I am,” Phil said simply, “And I’d really rather not leave you alone on this roof. Besides, Tubbo seems worried.”

Tommy huffed, but he allowed Phil to pull him to his feet.

Phil quickly shot Tubbo a message on the communicator.

_Phil: Messaged delivered. We’re coming down. Meet us in the kitchen._

Phil tried to convince Tommy to grab onto him while he flew down, but there was no way in hell that was happening. Tommy could climb down just as well, thank you very much, so they compromised with Phil hovering underneath Tommy while he climbed down into the window Tommy climbed out of earlier.

Like Tommy knew he could, Tommy successfully got himself inside, and Phil followed, latching the window shut behind them.

It was warmer inside. Tommy couldn’t decide if he found it comforting or stifling. Maybe a little bit of both.

He wasn’t sure what to think of Phil’s newfound “good parenting,” or whatever Tommy should call it. Tommy wanted to believe that Phil would be different, that Phil would be there, that things would change for the better…

But it was really damn difficult, so you’ll have to forgive Tommy if he was holding Phil at about an arm’s length.

Phil hadn’t tried to push the matter too much, so Tommy could find it within himself to appreciate _that_ , at the very least.

They entered the kitchen, where Tubbo and Fundy were making something that smelled _delicious._ The countertops also looked a bit like a bomb shell full of flour went off, and Tommy had no doubt that Fundy was doing most of the productive cooking. Tubbo was a bit of a disaster when it came to making food sometimes. Tommy remembered that one time when Tubbo had tried to make gingerbread, now that had been pretty funny.

Schlatt and Quackity were discussing something at the countertop farthest away from Tubbo and Fundy, seemingly pointing at a sheet of paper.

However, the first person Tommy was greeted by was none other than Clementine herself. She left Tubbo’s side to run up to Tommy almost straight after Tommy stepped into the room.

Tommy laughed, crouching down to sink his fingers into Clementine’s soft fur.

“Did you miss me?”

Clementine huffed excitedly, and Tommy took that as a yes, which would make sense because everyone loved Tommy. How could Clementine _not_ miss him, really?

 _“Nobody misses you,”_ Dream had said to him one day, sounding pitying, “ _They’re all happy that you’re gone.”_

Tommy shut his eyes and forced himself to push the memory aside. Dream could keep his stupid opinions to himself.

_Dream knew best, Dream was only trying to protect him, Dream was generous, Dream let him speak to Techno—_

Shut. Up.

Tommy sat down, not caring that he was technically in the middle of the kitchen floor, and Clementine sat in his lap.

“Did you take good care of Tubbo?”

Another yes, Tommy was assuming. Tommy petted Clementine with more fervor. It was grounding. It helped him ignore the crap that was going on his head.

“Good girl.”

“Tommy!” Tubbo cheered, running up to him, “Fundy’s making pancakes.”

Tommy blinked. “Didn’t you already have breakfast?” he asked.

Tubbo nodded. “This is _second breakfast,”_ he said, like it was a term everyone should know, “A vital part of everyone’s day.”

“Like hobbits?” Phil asked, walking deeper into the kitchen.

“What the hell are hobbits?” Tommy demanded, not getting up from his spot on the floor.

Phil shrugged. “Just some fantasy race in a book series,” he said, “It’s a bit of a tricky read. I’d be surprised if either of you have read it.”

Tommy squawked indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I can read many things!” He carefully set Clementine to the side before jumping to his feet. “Get me those books and I’ll show _you!”_

Phil laughed. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll see if I can’t track them down.”

Tommy glanced at Schlatt, who had looked up from his conversation with Quackity. Suddenly, the communicator in Tommy’s pocket felt like it was burning against his leg.

Well, better do it now before Schlatt got even _more_ angry. Still, Tommy couldn’t stop the growing tide of trepidation that rose up within him.

Tommy walked over to Schlatt, clenching his fists to hide the shaking in his hands. He pulled the communicator out of his pocket, holding it out to Schlatt.

“Um… here,” Tommy said awkwardly, staring at the ground, “I’m sorry for taking it. It was wrong of me, and I will accept any punishment you think is necessary.”

Tommy glanced up from the floor to Schlatt, who smiled, shrugged, and took the communicator from Tommy’s hand perfectly calmly.

What the hell.

“It’s pretty understandable,” Schlatt said calmly, “Obviously, I’d prefer that you not run off with it and climb onto the roof next time, but I don’t mind if you want to borrow my communicator.”

Tommy didn’t understand. He had _stolen_ Schlatt’s communicator. This was Schlatt’s chance to show his true colors, to punish Tommy, to yell at him at the very least.

Schlatt was looking down at the screen. He frowned, and Tommy felt himself tense up.

“Though, maybe we can hold out on calling both of your abusers next time,” he said.

Judging by his face, Quackity would’ve spat out his drink if he had one. “You did _what?”_ he demanded, looking at Tommy incredulously.

Tommy flinched and scowled. “I can call who I want.”

“This is less about what you want and more about your mental health,” Schlatt said, shoving his communicator into his pocket.

“I’m not _broken,”_ Tommy snarled, “I’m not insane.”

“He never said you were,” Quackity said calmly, “Just that you’ve been through a lot, and talking to the people who’ve hurt you will probably not help you recover.”

Tommy glanced at the floor. He supposed Quackity sort of had a point. But…

“Dream let me speak to Techno,” he said quietly.

There was a small pause that was promptly interrupted by Fundy.

“Hey Tommy, can I get a hand with these pancakes?!” he called out from across the decently large kitchen.

Finally, an escape.

“Uh, yeah big man!”

Tommy practically _sprinted_ to where Fundy was flipping pancakes on the griddle. Tubbo was already there, looking simultaneously relieved and concerned about something. Phil walked over to Schlatt and Quackity, who were still staring at the map on the table. Upon seeing Phil, Schlatt actually picked up the map, and all three of them left the room.

Tommy decided that just this once, he was going to ignore it. He was hungry, okay? He just wanted to eat these pancakes.

Fundy began stacking a colossal pile of pancakes on top of the plates both Tubbo and Fundy were holding.

“Y’know,” Fundy said passive aggressively, “You could’ve told me about this time travel things sooner.”

Tubbo and Tommy winced.

“Yeah,” Tubbo admitted, “I think we were originally going to keep it more on the down low, but it didn’t exactly work out that way.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Fundy asked, pouring new batter onto the griddle, “Or were you just going to keep me in the dark the entire time?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably. Was it wrong that he had no clue what the answer to that question was? Would he have chosen to tell Fundy about the situation? Probably eventually, right? Wilbur _was_ his father after all.

“I think we would’ve told you,” Tommy said, “Eventually.”

Fundy scowled. “Eventually? It wouldn’t have killed you to tell me as soon as you could that my father was going to blow up the country and get my grandfather to kill him? You can’t hide that sort of thing from me!”

Tubbo set his plate of pancakes down on the counter with a small clink. “Fundy…” Tubbo began, “things are just complicated.”

“Things are always complicated,” Fundy snarled, “So don’t give me that diplomatic crap.”

Fundy was blowing this way out of proportion.

“What do you want us to say, Fundy?” Tommy asked, putting his own plate down, “Because I could tell you that we were trying to spare your feelings. Would that make you feel better?”

Fundy scowled at sizzling pancake on the griddle. “I don’t need you guys to treat me like a child.”

Tubbo sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Honestly, Fundy, we have no idea what we’re doing. The only people we’ve told so far are Technoblade, Quackity, Phil, and you. And in all the cases except for Phil’s, we had to tell them because they had heard too much.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Fundy demanded, flipping the pancake with the spatula, “I deserved to know immediately, not just when you have no other choice.”

“Oh yeah, like that would’ve gone well,” Tommy said sarcastically, “You would’ve just said we were being delusional or something like that.”

_“You’re being delusional, Tommy.” “You’re being ridiculous.”_

Fundy scoffed. “Oh yeah? Just admit you were too afraid to tell me the truth.”

Tubbo raised his hands placatingly. “Fundy I know you’re feeling a little hurt right now, but none of this is Tommy’s—”

“Are you kidding me?!” Fundy shouted, gesturing violently at Tommy, “ _All_ of this is Tommy’s fault!”

Tommy flinched and stumbled backward, hardly believing what he was hearing.

Tubbo scowled. “That’s not—”

“He’s been with Wilbur this _entire time!”_ Fundy screamed, “He could’ve stopped him! He could’ve done _something._ Wilbur _loves_ him, Wilbur _adores_ him, Wilbur would’ve _listened_ to him!”

“Are you hearing yourself?!” Tubbo shouted back, “Wilbur has been abusing Tommy, why are you jealous of him?!”

Jealous? Fundy wasn’t jealous. Fundy was just stating the truth. Tommy _was_ there; Tommy _should’ve_ done something.

But instead he had just let his brother descend into madness. Instead he had let Techno get stabbed. Instead he was standing in this kitchen with a dog while everyone else was—

“Tommy?” Tubbo said softly, “Are you with us?”

Tommy snapped himself out of his spiral. Something was brushing against his leg, and Tommy looked down to see Clementine looking up at Tommy worriedly. Come to think of it, could dogs even get worried?

“I’m fine,” Tommy said brusquely, “And you’re right, Fundy. Most of this is—”

“Don’t,” Tubbo interrupted, giving Fundy a glare.

Fundy sighed. “You’re right,” he said, “That was wrong of me. I didn’t mean any of it, Tommy, I’ve just been having some… unresolved emotions lately.”

Tommy nodded sagely. “I can understand that,” he said. And he could, even if his problems weren’t as bad as Fundy’s. At least _his_ father had never shouted at him, saying that he was a traitor.

There was an awkward silence. Tommy could smell smoke.

“Is something burning?” he asked, balling his hands into fists.

Fundy swore. “The pancakes!”

That particular batch was pretty unsalvageable. That was okay, though, because the rest were perfectly edible.

They threw away the bad batch. If Tommy were poetic, he would’ve compared the burnt pancakes to the argument he and Fundy just had, and they were throwing it away. No more hard feelings.

But that sounded really cliché or cheesy or something dumb like that, so it was a good thing that Tommy wasn’t poetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired so these notes are going to be uninformative. 
> 
> Except that Fundy has problems too would you look at that. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, please be nice in the comments, and thank you for reading! <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno kills a man. 
> 
> A man maims Techno. 
> 
> Who is the man?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: blood, injury, manipulation, abandonment issues, death sorta, chaos chat, dream, wilbur,

Technoblade wasn’t mad. And he had long surpassed furious.

He was _feral._

_KILL HIM WITH FIRE. **FILE A RESTRAINING ORDER.** BEAT HIM TO DEATH. **STICK HIM IN A PRISON AND THEN BEAT HIM TO DEATH.** TORUTURE HIM FOR ETERNITY. **WITH RAW POTATOES.** RAW POTATOES ARE TOO KIND. **POISONED POTATOES.**_

“You _monster_ ,” Techno snarled at Dream, “That is my _brother—”_

“Careful Techno,” Dream said casually, pocketing his communicator, “You’re starting to sound like Wilbur.”

_LOW BLOW. **WE SOUND NOTHING LIKE WILBUR.** WILBUR HAS THAT FANCY ACENT. **IT’S NOT THAT FANCY.** WE ARE FREE OF THE FANCINESS._

Techno rolled his eyes. “Y’know, that’s not so bad over _sending my little brother my fricking finger,”_ he said, “And don’t tell me that was Wilbur. Wilbur thinks Tommy’s in a prison cell.”

Dream hummed, tilting his head. “I mean, _yeah,”_ he admitted, “But you can’t deny that it was a pretty effective way of grabbing his attention.”

_GRABBING HIS ATTENTION? **YOU TRAUMATIZED HIM.** I mean, he was already traumatized. **YOU DOUBLE TRUAMATIZED HIM.** TRIPLE. **QUADRUPLE.** QUINT—_

Techno tuned out his chat as they continued raising the number and gave Dream the worst glare he could come up with. It would probably strike most men dead. Sadly, Dream did _not_ drop dead. Shame.

“I know what you’re doing,” he hissed, “I know why you let him talk to me.”

_Ooooooh?? **Do tell Techno-Sensei.**_

Dream’s lips quirked upward. “Oh?” he asked, “And why’s that?”

Technoblade would give anything to see Dream’s head rolling on the floor right about now.

“You’re manipulating him,” Techno began.

“I’m always manipulating him,” Dream said, with a tone similar to someone who just rolled their eyes.

_DON’T INTERRUPT TECHNO-SENSEI. **YOU HAVE LOST YOUR HONOR.** WE NOW EXILE YOU FROM YOUR OWN COUNTRY. **YOU CANNOT RETURN UNLESS YOU CAPTURE GOOD MORALS.** YOU LIKELY SHALL NEVER RETURN. **GOOD.**_

If Techno weren’t so _damn_ mad at Dream, he probably would’ve snorted at the Chat’s antics. They certainly knew how to completely destroy the tension.

“You didn’t let me finish.” Techno leaned forward so that he could look maybe a little more intimidating toward Dream. Probably didn’t work, but a man had to keep up appearances. “You’re bribing him, so to speak. You’re making him believe that if he keeps calling you, you’ll let him speak to me.”

_OH, THAT MAKES SENSE. **WANT TO PUNT A GREEN BOY.**_

Dream chuckled. “You’re reading into things,” he said, “I was just being nice. Is that illegal or something? I thought you didn’t believe in laws.”

“I do believe in human decency, contrary to popular belief,” Techno said, still radiating rage, “And you seem to be lacking in that particular department.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty.” Dream frowned. “You aren’t much better yourself. Honestly, I can’t believe you didn’t realize that Wilbur was abusing Tommy right under your nose.”

Much to his annoyance, Techno winced. Logically, he knew Dream was just trying to get a rise out of him, but the words still felt like a punch in the face. Because they were true, unfortunately.

_DON’T LISTEN TO HIM. **STAY STRONG TECHNO-CHAN.**_

“And he thought you knew,” Dream continued, smiling widely, “He thought you were standing by, watching as the person he trusted most tore down his barriers, hurt him, and—”

“Shut up,” Techno growled, “You shut your damn mouth, or I’ll do it for you.”

_YOU SAID IT. **PUT A PICKAXE THROUGH HIS TEETH.** BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD_

Dream shrugged, looking entirely unconcerned. “Okay,” he said, “I know when I’m not wanted.”

He started heading toward the door. “Wilbur seems pretty stressed,” he noted, “I’d prepare yourself.”

He re-gagged Technoblade, left, leaving the door slightly cracked behind him in the most unsatisfying manner possible.

 **_YOU CAN’T EVEN SLAM A DOOR RIGHT._ ** _ONE DAY WE’LL SLAM THE DOOR IN YOUR FACE. **IT WILL BE EXHILIRATING.** WE WILL LITERALLY SLAM IT INTO YOUR FACE. **IT WILL HURT.** THAT IS THE GOAL._

Techno ignored Chat’s fairly decent if not impractical ideas for something far more important.

Dream had left the door cracked. Dream had left the door _open._ Why would he do that? Was he mocking Techno, thinking that Techno wasn’t able to move? Was he laying a trap of sorts?

It didn’t matter. What _mattered_ is that Techno had a way _out._ And if Techno didn’t call that an opportunity, then he wasn’t the blade.

 **_YOU SHALL ALWAYS BE THE BLADE._ ** _YOU CANNOT ESCAPE IT. **BUT YOU CAN ESCAPE THIS PRISON.** MAYBE KILL DREAM ALONG THE WAY. **OK, I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO FINDS THIS SUS?**_

Alas, that one reasonable voice had a point. This was _incredibly_ suspicious. Beyond suspicious, really. Dream had never failed to close the door behind him before. It was really villain 101. Don’t leave the door cracked when it’s the door to your only prisoner. Especially when your prisoner is highly proficient in everything.

_Well, maybe not EVERYTHING. **YEAH, REMEMBER THAT ONE TIME YOU TRIED TO PLAY THE GUITAR.** WILBUR LOOKED LIKE HIS SOUL WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE HIS BODY. **I DON’T KNOW, WILBUR LOOKED A LOT HAPPIER WHEN HIS SOUL ACTUALLY LEFT HIS BODY.** TOO SOON._

Techno really wanted to tell his chat for quite possibly the hundred-thousandth time to _shut up, if you don’t mind,_ but sadly he was gagged, and talking through cloth was not actually what one would call comfortable, and also if he didn’t take this window while it lasted then Techno would be a disgrace to his own name.

There was just one issue.

Techno was kind of bound at the feet.

_PRESS F FOR RESPECTS. **F. F. F. F. F. F. F. F. F. F. F.F. F.F F. F. F. F. F.F.F. F. F.F. F. F. F.F**_

One of these days, Techno was just going to drown his chat in lava. Don’t ask him how, he hadn’t worked out the logistics yet, but one of these days, the Chat was going to rue the day they ever decided to scream the letter ‘F’ inside his brain.

_YOU CAN TRY. **MUAHAHHAHA.** YOU CANNOT ESCAPE THE CHAOS. **BUT YOU CAN ESCAPE THE CELL.** PLEASE STOP SITTING AND ESCAPE THE CELL. **PLEASE.**_

Right, focus.

Techno looked at his feet, seeing if there was any way he could possibly loosen the ropes. Currently, the answer was a hard no. He supposed he could attempting to kick around a bunch, but Techno had a feeling that would only serve to tire him out and waste time.

Jumping was right out.

_JUMP. **HOP LIKE A BUNNY RABBIT.** TECHNOBOUNCE._

Yeah, jumping was _right_ out.

_SLITHER LIKE A SNAKE. **SNEK.** HISSSSSSSS_

No, he was _not slithering_ like a snake. God, Chat, where did you get these ideas?

_THEY COME FROM THE GREAT BEYOND. **THE GREAT BEYOND.**_

So, Techno did the only thing a man can do when his legs were tied and jumping was right out and there was no way in hell he was going to be caught _slithering like a snake._

He got on his knees and crawled.

Did it serve to get him across the room? Yes. Was it uncomfortable? Definitely. Was it making Chat cackle like the chaos demons they were? Oh, absolutely.

_TECHNOCRAWL. **LOOK AT HIM GO.** LIKE A PENGUIN. **LIKE TOMMY WHEN HE WAS ONE.**_

Was it sneaky? God, no.

Honestly, Techno was surprised that nobody had come rushing into the room by the time he had inelegantly reached the door. And no, it was not pleasant surprise. It was “incredibly suspicious surprise, but he’ll take it because there wasn’t much else he could do” surprise.

_WE’VE MADE IT TO THE DOOR. **WHAT NEXT.** WHO DO YOU THINK WE ARE CORTONA? **SURELY SOMEONE HAS A BRIGHT IDEA.**_

Yeah, the bright idea was to listen for anyone walking by. It wasn’t exactly the first time Techno had attempted sneaking around, Chat. He wasn’t an amateur.

_True. **I DON’T KNOW, YOU KINDA GOT STABBED LIKE A NERD.** Also true._

Techno wasn’t even sure why he was trying anymore.

The good news was that nobody was coming his way. So, Techno was probably safe to creep out the door very loudly and noisily. Maybe if he was lucky he would find a sword lying around. Wouldn’t that be nice?

_That, Technoblade, would be called plot convenience. **WE DO NOT APPROVE OF THINGS DROPPING INTO OUR LAPS.** OKAY BUT WHAT DO YOU CALL THE DOOR? **INCREDIBLY SUSPICIOUS.**_

If Chat mentioned the suspiciousness of this situation _one more time,_ Techno was going to find the nearest sword, undo his bindings, and stab them.

_You can try. **CAN WE STOP SITTING AROUND AND MOVE IT ALREADY?**_

Techno nodded. Though, the sword idea wasn’t half bad. Maybe if he could get one… well, one thing at a time.

Techno slowly opened the door, cringing when it made an _incredibly_ loud squeaking sound. Honestly, why is it that everything got twenty-times louder when one was trying to _sneak_ around.

_CUE THE MISSION IMPOSSIBLE THEME. **DUN, DUN, dun, dun, dun, DUN DUN, dun, dun, dun.** DO DO DO._

Technoblade hated that he was actually getting into this very poorly sung theme music as he shuffled into the hall, looking both ways. It was catchy, okay?

_Shush, I hear footsteps._

Technoblade froze. Sure enough, footsteps were coming toward him. If he was lucky, it was Wilbur. Well… lucky was strong, but _luckier_. Wilbur was easier to handle due to his general instability. His movements were a lot less calculated, which meant Wilbur would be more prone to error.

_CAN YOU STOP SITTING THERE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY._

Technoblade continued shuffling on his knees down the unfamiliar hall, away from the footsteps. Hopefully this led him to an exit.

_Hopefully the exit doesn’t have stairs. **We did not think this through.**_

Listen, Techno didn’t like this embarrassing mode of walking either, but it was all he had, so he would appreciate it if the Chat would _stop talking._

The footsteps were getting closer. Techno thought it might be prudent to turn around so that he can properly face his attacker. This turned out to be a good idea, as Wilbur was walking right into view.

He didn’t look too good. His hair was even _more_ messy than before, and he looked as though he had a fight with a wall, if his split knuckles were anything to go by.

Understandable. Wilbur wasn’t exactly being _discrete_ when he shouted for Tommy to get off the roof. Techno panicked when he heard though too, so he could relate.

When he saw Techno, Wilbur froze.

“What the hell…” Wilbur began, looking dumbstruck. His face hardened. “How did you get out?”

_DEUS EX MACHINA. **SUS CIRCUMSTANCES.** THE WILL OF PRIME._

Techno shrugged.

Wilbur snarled and began running forward, reaching into his trench coat. There was a flash of silver, and something was flying straight toward him.

_KNIFE._

Techno lifted his arms up to meet the knife’s path, and it landed right in the thick rope bindings. Wilbur’s eyes widened in surprise, but Techno was too busy pulling his wrists away from each other. The rope split open, _finally_ releasing his wrists.

_LET’S GO. **THE LOOK ON HIS FACE.** Ugh, rope burn. **KICK HIS BUTT.**_

The knife clattered onto the ground, and Techno snatched it up with his right hand while he painfully ripped his gag out with his left.

Wilbur was already running toward him, pulling out a genuine sword. Techno rolled out of the way as Wilbur aimed a genuine slice toward him. As he rolled, he kicked his legs up and sliced through their bindings with the knife.

The cut wasn’t as precise as he’d like. Turned out holding a knife with one missing finger was strange and difficult. Didn’t matter.

What mattered is that Technoblade jumped to his _feet_ for the first time in _days._

And then immediately stumbled.

_**Lol, fail.** TECHNOSTUMBLE. **YOU’RE BETTER THAN THIS.**_

Wilbur let out a frustrated growl, aiming a sword stroke toward Techno’s leg. Techno dodged toward Wilbur and aimed a knife stroke toward Wilbur’s neck. Wilbur dodged out of the way.

_HIT HIM ON THE HEAD. **KILL HIM.** BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD._

Techno may have been stuck in a prison for a week, but Wilbur had been smoking cigarettes and deteriorating for just as long, so he really didn’t stand a chance.

In one smooth motion, Techno swept down and kicked Wilbur’s legs out from under him. His sword fell to the ground with a clatter.

_BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD_

Techno pinned Wilbur to the ground, breathing heavily. He held the edge of his knife to Wilbur’s throat.

_THE MOMENT WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR, **KILL HIM,** DO It NOW **, DO IT,** BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

Wilbur smiled, not looking at all afraid. “Are you going to kill me, Techno?” he asked, looking like he had half a mind to laugh.

**_Blood, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD_ **

It would be so easy to just slit Wilbur’s throat here and now. And after everything Wilbur’s done? It would even be justified. There was absolutely _no_ reason for Techno not to end it now.

A single tear rolled down Wilbur’s cheek as he breathed out, “It doesn’t quite matter anymore, since Tommy seems to be about ready to throw himself off a roof anyway.”

_Tommy._

And as Techno watched the tear roll off of Wilbur’s face, Techno forced back the angered cries for blood as a memory suddenly intruded upon his thoughts.

 _“He needs help,”_ Tommy had pleaded the day he had finally escaped Pogtopia, _“Not a sword through the gut.”_

And as Techno stared at Wilbur’s sad, accepting, yet still completely _deranged_ face, Techno suddenly remembered those few sparring matches Wilbur and Techno had done all those years ago. When Techno would beat him again and again, and eventually Wilbur laughed and said, _“I’m not good enough for this anyway.”_

Damnit memory.

Technoblade lifted the knife off of Wilbur’s throat, and Wilbur’s eyes widened, his face hardening back into a glare.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? **YOU HAVE HIM RIGHT THERE.** JUST KILL HIM NOW. **SCREW HAPPY MEMORIES TOMMY WILL COME TO FORGIVE YOU.** I DON’T WANT TO LOSE ANYMORE LIMBS._

“I’m not going to kill you, Wilbur,” Techno said gruffly, “Stay down and I won’t hurt you at all.”

Techno moved to stand up, and Wilbur let out a guttural scream, jumping up and slamming Techno into the ground. Techno let out a startled grunt.

_SEE THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON’T KILL THE MAN. **HONESTLY.** I don’t know Techno might be right._

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Wilbur demanded, more tears escaping his eyes. “What is wrong with _everyone?”_

_MAD MAN IS NOW A SAD MAN. **HE ALSO LOOKS READY FOR MURDER.**_

Techno had _never_ seen Wilbur like this. Not recently at least. When was the last time Techno had seen him cry?

“I don’t know, Wilbur,” Techno said tiredly, “Maybe we’re just trying to help you.”

Wilbur screwed up his face in anger. “Stop _lying!”_ He moved to grab the sword off the ground.

Techno kicked his knee up into Wilbur’s abdomen. Wilbur shouted out in pain, instinctively moving away from Techno. Techno jumped back to his feet, spun his knife around, and hit the pummel of his knife against Wilbur’s skull.

Wilbur collapsed onto the ground.

_KILL HIM PLEASE. **GET HIM THERAPY.** INCARCERATE HIM._

For a small moment, the only sound in the room was Techno's breathing as he tried to comprehend what just happened. 

Technoblade didn’t even get to _think_ about what had just happened, however, because slow clapping began reverberating in the hall. Technoblade spun around.

Dream was leaning against the wall of the hallway, still clapping slowly. A sick smirk was on his face.

**_BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD—_ **

This time, Techno could agree whole heartedly, flipping the knife back around and taking aim

“What a good sho—”

Dream was interrupted as the knife landed in his heart with a _schtick._ Dream looked down at the knife and let out a small chuckle. Techno took vindictive pleasure in the blood that dribbled out of his mouth.

Dream collapsed to the ground.

_YESSSS. **DREAM’S DEAD CRABRAVE.** FINALLY. **ONE DOWN TWO TO GO.** A too merciful end if you ask me._

Techno didn’t waste time to celebrate. Dream’s bed was probably nearby, and Techno really _couldn’t_ afford to wait around.

Techno stooped over Dream’s body, twisted the knife, and yanked it out.

He hesitated at Wilbur’s body. Should he take him back? While that would probably be ideal, it would be a hinderance. Techno was trying to get away for pete’s sake.

Still…

Technoblade searched Wilbur’s pockets, and sure enough, he found Tommy’s communicator. He glanced at his coordinates and instantly typed them down, sending them to Schlatt, who he was making the executive decision to trust. He then deleted the message.

Then, Techno _ran._

Which was a bit of an issue, because this place turned out to be a freaking _labyrinth._

_WHERE’S MAGIC STRING WHEN YOU NEED IT. **WHY CAN’T WE LEAVE.**_

Techno made another sharp turn and was relieved to find stairs that seemed to be going _upward._ Finally.

Techno instantly scrambled up them, suddenly aware that some of his adrenaline was wearing off. Some of his bruises and cuts were starting to ache again, and he could feel fresh ones from where Wilbur had slammed him against the ground.

It didn’t matter. He just had to keep going up these stairs.

_UP THE STAIRS WE GO. **AND THEN INTO THE TUNNEL.**_

There’d better not be a tunnel at the top of those stairs. Techno had better see the sky when he gets up to the top of the stairs.

Some god must’ve been watching from above or something, because he saw the sky. It was the night sky, but it was better than nothing, and Techno was going to take it.

_FREEDOM. **WE’RE FREE.** YESSSS. **LOOK A DOG.**_

Technoblade looked at the dog the Chat was referring to. It was really just a wolf that one would find in any forest, but it was staring at Techno strangely, so there was that.

Technoblade couldn’t really afford to focus on some dog, though; he really needed to get _out—_

Techno let out a gasp as an arrow painfully imbedded itself into his leg, causing Techno to fall forward.

_**KEEP GOING.** DON’T LET A MESELY ARROW TAKE DOWN THE MIGHTY TECHNOBLADE._

Techno moved to pull himself back to his feet and face his attacker, but he was slammed face first into the dirt before he could get an inch off the ground.

“Did you have fun, Techno?” Dream whispered, gripping Techno by his braid, “Because I’m going to tell you a little secret.”

Techno refused to say anything as Dream painfully pulled his braid backward.

“You did exactly what I wanted you to,” Dream snarled, “With the exception of the dying part, of course.”

Techno could practically _hear_ Dream’s smile.

“I hope you didn’t mind losing a finger, because this is going to hurt a _whole lot_ more.”

Blinding pain, screaming, and the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> The lore streams were killing me so i decided to kill you. (:
> 
> Honestly you should be thanking me, I took away one of Dream's canon lives. You should really be grateful. (lol, be grateful to someone on discord i wasn't originally going to do it)
> 
> Watch out Wilbur, your redemption is actually beginning to show. 
> 
> What's going to happen next? Guess we'll have to wait and see. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed, and please be nice in the comments! <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, George is talked to, there is a dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: discussion of violence, implied/referenced child abuse, manipulation, some blood, mentioned amputation

Schlatt ushered Quackity and Phil back into his office, far away from where the kids could overhear them.

The message on the communicator was from an hour ago, and frankly, it was a miracle Tommy hadn’t seen it. Or not. When Tommy had first been exiled, he had kept spamming Schlatt with swear-words and insults and what-not, so Schlatt had put him on ‘do not disturb’ for the sake of Schlatt’s sanity. Schlatt was now eternally grateful for this one thing past-him decided to do. If Tommy had seen the message, the results could have been disastrous.

Now, however, Schlatt, Phil, Quackity, and whoever else got involved in this just needed to keep Tommy and Tubbo out of the know. Should be easy enough.

Well, no, it really wouldn’t be that easy, but that was besides point.

“What’s going on?” Phil asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

Quackity stuffed his hands into his pockets and started swaying on his feet. “Um… Tommy’s communicator sent us –well, Schlatt, technically— coordinates.”

Phil’s eyes widened. “What?” he said, his face hardened, “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

Schlatt sighed, resting his head in one of his hands. “It could easily be a trap. We can’t rush into this.”

Phil’s wings twitched and his face contorted in such a way that Schlatt expected him to reply in anger. To his surprise (and immense relief), Phil sagged, nodding.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered, taking his hat off and running his fingers in his hair, “What have you done so far?”

Phil was willing to work with Schlatt. That was good. That would make things immensely simpler from here on out.

“We’ve already got scouts in the area,” Schlatt muttered, staring down at the map that they had spread across the table, “They haven’t reported anything particularly unique about it.”

“There has to be _something_ there,” Quackity remarked drawing an ‘x’ on top of the exact coordinates, “Maybe they’ve missed something.”

“Unless, of course, the coordinates are a rendezvous,” Phil pointed out, “Techno might’ve already been on the move.”

Schlatt massaged his temple. “We can’t even be sure it was Technoblade,” he muttered, “Dream or Wilbur could be trying to trip us up.”

Quackity was glancing down at his communicator, his face paling significantly. “The scouts found something.”

Schlatt had a bad feeling about this.

“What?” Phil asked, desperation bleeding into his voice, “What did they find?”

Quackity stared at Phil, looking horrified. “Um… they… they saw Dream cutting off Techno’s arm _.”_

Nausea and horror churned in Schlatt’s stomach, and Phil looked as though someone had stabbed him.

“W _hat?”_ Phil whispered hoarsely.

“His _arm?”_ Schlatt asked Quackity, “They _saw_ Dream cutting it off?”

Quackity looked like he wanted to puke. Schlatt understood the feeling. “They were hiding,” he said, “Apparently, he cut off his braid as well.”

Phil let out a low moan.

“Of course,” Schlatt muttered, “And this is in the same area as the coordinates that have been just broadcasted to us?”

Quackity nodded. “Really close to the coordinates, actually.”

Phil’s eyes glinted, and he pushed himself off of the wall, standing at his full height. “We need to get him out,” he said firmly, “We need to get Wilbur too. We know where they are, now all we need to do is make a plan.”

Schlatt frowned. “So what I’m gathering from this is that Technoblade must’ve tried to escape,” he mused, “Thus sending the message to me, and Dream caught up and cut his arm off.”

Phil let out another strangled sound at the mention.

“That sounds like something Techno would do,” Phil said, “The sending the message thing. Not only was it a fail-safe for if he didn’t manage to escape, but it also would be a simple way to raid their base after Techno got out.”

“Yes,” Schlatt said, “Well, now we need to figure out how to get _inside_ said base. Quackity, did the scouts see where Dream went after that?”

Quackity shook his head. “He used invis.”

Schlatt swore. Why couldn’t anything be easy?

Phil bristled. “I can storm the place myself,” he said, starting to head toward the door.

“You’re going to storm the place you don’t know the entrance to?” Schlatt asked dryly, “And then fight against Dream and Wilbur single-handedly?”

Phil’s wings fluffed slightly. If Schlatt had to guess, it was from irritation. Schlatt was very good at irritating people.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said coldly, “It’s better than just sitting around and speculating, like you seem to want.”

“I’m just being cautious,” Schlatt said calmly, “Dream is a master manipulator, and he knows exactly how to manipulate a situation to his advantage. We need to make sure that any plan we make won’t unintentionally make anything worse.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “We are making a plan, though,” he confirmed.

Schlatt nodded. “Of course,” he said brusquely, “I owe Technoblade for helping Tommy and Tubbo escape. It would be pretty terrible of me to not return the favor.”

Listen, Tubbo was tired.

He was tired for a lot of reasons. Wars, presidencies, fractured friendships, nightmares, etc.

But one thing he was _incredibly_ tired of was being treated like he was a child.

And maybe that made him sound like Tommy, but Tubbo wasn’t even sure he cared.

He was a part of this government. He was literally the _Secretary of State,_ and Schlatt was deliberately keeping him out of the know.

How did Tubbo know this, one might ask?

Maybe because Schlatt, Quackity, and _Phil_ left the kitchen with what was obviously a _map._ Tubbo wasn’t stupid. He knew they were looking for Technoblade. And while he understood why the might want to keep Tommy out of it, Tubbo couldn’t understand why _Tubbo_ was being excluded.

Tubbo knew that Schlatt didn’t want Tubbo to be involved in the rescue, and that was fine. But Tubbo could help with the planning. He had run a country before for Pete’s sake; Tubbo could _help._

But no. Instead, Schlatt had chosen to keep Tubbo out of the loop, to keep Tubbo uninformed, like he wasn’t worth it.

This was just like _Quackity_ back when Tubbo was president of New L’manberg. _Quackity_ making all of the calls. _Quackity_ treating Tubbo like an ignorant child.

It was infuriating.

“You okay, Tubbo?” Tommy asked, his mouth full of pancakes.

Tubbo looked up at Tommy in surprise. He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Huh?” he asked.

Tommy swallowed, gesturing to Tubbo with his fork. “You kind of look like you want to burn your pancakes,” he said, “What did they ever do to you?”

“Do you have a problem with my cooking?” Fundy joked.

Tubbo shook his head quickly, trying to force on a smile. “No, no, the pancakes are fine,” he said, quickly jabbing at the pancake with his fork and stuffing a bite into his mouth.

“Then what’s wrong?” Tommy demanded.

“Nothing!” Tubbo said in that high-pitched manner that made it clear that he was lying.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “ _Tubbo…”_

Tubbo sighed. “Listen, I’ve just got something on my mind,” he said, glancing back at the doors of the kitchen, “Actually, you know what?” Tubbo stood up. “I’m going to deal with it now. I’ll see you later.”

Tommy nodded, returning to his pancake. “Okay, don’t do anything stupid.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes as he walked out of the kitchen. “Don’t send Clementine after me!”

“Ugh, fine!”

Tubbo sighed, shutting the door behind him. Honestly, Tommy’s insistence to pawn off Clementine to Tubbo was mildly ridiculous. Clementine was _Tommy’s_ therapy dog, not Tubbo’s. Tubbo didn’t need a therapy dog. _He_ wasn’t exiled, abused by his older brother, exiled _again,_ and abused by Dream.

 _“Don’t be an idiot,”_ Tommy’s voice from this morning echoed in his head, “ _It can still be… bad, you know?”_

Maybe Tommy had a point. Still, that didn’t mean that _Tommy_ could just turn around and think that Tubbo needed Clementine more than he did, which was also completely untrue.

Tubbo reached the door to the office, and he stormed in. Phil, Quackity, and Schlatt were all gathered around the desk, staring at that stupid _map_ again.

“Once we manage to locate the entran—” Schlatt looked up in surprise as Tubbo marched into the office. “Tubbo! What are you doing here?”

Tubbo planted his feet firmly in front of the desk, crossed his arms, and said coldly, “Why shouldn’t I be here? I’m a member of the cabinet too, last I recall.”

Schlatt sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I—”

“You _what?”_ Tubbo demanded, “Thought I couldn’t handle it? Thought I couldn’t help? Thought I was too young?”

“That’s not—” Quackity started, but Tubbo interrupted again.

“Then why are you guys crowding around the table like you’re forming some sort of secret organization, huh?” He gestured to the desk. “I know you’re trying to rescue Techno, and you can’t just keep me out of the loop like this, I can be helpful too, I can…”

Schlatt raised his hand placatingly, causing Tubbo to trail off. He didn’t look Schlatt’s eyes, instead electing on staring at his immaculate tie.

“Nobody is doubting your skill,” Schlatt said calmly, “but just because you _can,_ doesn’t mean you should.”

This did nothing to satisfy Tubbo’s frustration. He had fought in literal _wars,_ ran a country, and _now_ he was being told to sit back and let the adults do the work?

“Because I’m too young?”

“Because you’re a kid,” Schlatt said calmly, “And you deserve to act like one.”

And as quickly as it came, all of Tubbo’s frustration and anger drained out of his body. “Oh,” he said dully, “That… that actually makes sense.”

It wasn’t exactly what Tubbo would call _old_ news. Tubbo _was_ a kid, and he _should_ be acting like one.

“It’s just… easy to forget, I guess,” Tubbo muttered, glancing at his shoes embarrassedly, “Sorry.”

“No problem, man,” Quackity said calmly, “I’d probably be pretty mad too if I thought I was being cast aside or something.”

Phil hadn’t said anything, still staring at a certain part of the map like it would solve all of his problems. Overwhelmed by curiosity, Tubbo walked closer, taking a look at the spot Phil was staring at.

There wasn’t anything particularly special about it. It was just a part of the forest. The only thing that made that spot interesting was the fact that someone had drawn an ‘x’ on it.

“What’s this?” Tubbo asked tapping his finger against the x.

Schlatt sighed. “We think that’s where Technoblade is.”

Surprise mixed with joy rose up in Tubbo. “Really?” he asked, “That’s great! We can go and get him—”

“Not so fast,” Schlatt said, shaking his head, “The _only_ thing we know about is the coordinates. Everything else? Zilch, nothing.”

“Nothing?” Tubbo echoed, furrowing his eyebrows, “How do you know the coordinates and not anything else?”

“Because Techno sent us the coords,” Phil muttered, “He tried to escape.”

_Tried._

“Oh,” Tubbo said, “Well, then, what’s the plan?”

“We’re sending Phil out to find the entrance to this place,” Schlatt said, “After that, we can gather up a decent force and raid the place.”

“What if Dream or Wilbur knows that you’re coming?” Tubbo asked, “Or spots you? They’ll leave before you guys can get there.”

“Invis, mate,” Phil said, still sounding preoccupied, “Nobody will know I was there. Dream won’t have any reason to believe that we’re coming.”

“Unless, of course, someone’s feeding Dream information from the inside,” Quackity muttered.

Tubbo flinched. _“You know what happens to traitors, don’t you?”_

“Who would do that?” Phil asked, glancing up for the first time, “I thought everyone here hated Dream.”

Quackity and Tubbo looked at each other.

“George,” they both said at the same time.

Schlatt swore.

“I should’ve thought of that sooner,” he muttered, “I’ll have to talk to George. The man’s hardly around, I almost forgot he was on the cabinet.”

“Can’t keep track of those details after all that time travel, huh?” Quackity asked light-heartedly, even though he was frowning, “Do you really think George is a traitor?”

“I mean, I don’t know…” Tubbo mused, drumming his fingers against the desk, “He’s pretty loyal to Dream, last I recall, but he’s not exactly what I would call _active_ around here. I’m not sure how effective he would be in terms of feeding information.”

“It would make sense, though,” Schlatt said, “Like how Dream managed to get past our security to deliver Techno’s… you-know-what. It wasn’t Dream, it was George.”

Tubbo frowned. “I’d rather not jump to conclusions,” he said, “For all we know, George is completely innocent.”

“Okay, how about this,” Phil said, “Tubbo can talk to this George, see if there’s anything suspicious about him. Even if it isn’t him, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dream has at least one ally in this building, so we’ll just keep the plan under wraps.”

“And that way we’ll have an easier time of hiding this from Tommy,” Schlatt agreed, nodding, “Good idea, Philza.”

Phil only nodded. Tubbo stared.

“Wait… we’re not going to tell Tommy that we know where Techno is?” Tubbo asked.

Phil sighed. “Think about it, Tubbo,” he said, “He’ll only rush in and try to save Techno himself, getting hurt in the process. It’s better this way.”

Tubbo scowled. “We don’t have to tell him _where_ he is,” he insisted, “But this is only going to make things worse! What if he finds out we’ve been hiding this from him? He’ll be furious.”

“If he knows he’ll find some way to steal the map or something to figure out the coordinates,” Quackity said, “It was hard enough to get the kid away from Wilbur the first time. I’d prefer not to have to do it again.”

Tubbo didn’t like this. Tubbo didn’t like this at all. Shouldn’t’ Tommy have the right to know that they were making progress? Shouldn’t they be giving Tommy the benefit of the doubt, trusting that he would stay put?

…knowing Tommy, if they didn’t manage to rescue Techno _today;_ he probably would sneak out in the dead of night.

“Fine,” Tubbo bit out, “But I’d like the record to show that I don’t like this one bit.”

Tommy was going to be _so mad_ when he found out Tubbo was hiding this from him.

Schlatt nodded, looking relieved. “Thanks, Tubbo.”

Tubbo nodded shortly.

“I’ll go, uh, talk to George,” he muttered, turning around, “Good luck finding the entrance, Phil.”

“Be careful,” Phil replied.

“I will,” Tubbo said simply, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

Tubbo decided that he wasn’t going to go through the effort of searching for George manually, so he shot him a message asking for coordinates. George supplied them, which was how Tubbo found himself sitting in front of George outside of a coffee shop, George sipping an incredibly large looking mug of Coffee.

“Sorry,” George said, yawning loudly, “I just… had a very late night.”

Tubbo frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah?” he asked, trying to sound casual, “Why’s that?”

George shrugged. “Dream—” Tubbo’s heart skipped a beat. “—wanted me to deliver something to Tommy as soon as he was up and about again. I didn’t think much of it, so—”

“Wait a moment,” Tubbo interrupted, “You’re working with Dream?”

George frowned. “I think _working_ with him is a bit strong,” he said, “But he’s my friend, you know? He asked for a favor, and honestly, it was just a small snack. Why?”

Tubbo’s stomach churned at Techno’s finger being referred to as a snack.

“Um, did-did you happen to look _inside_ the box by any chance?”

George shook his head. “Dream said it’s one of those things that have to be eaten instantly after the box was opened; I had to keep it in the freezer too. But like I said, I didn’t think much of it. He was just worried about Tommy. Probably wanted to cheer him up.”

Tubbo bit the inside of his cheek. He did not sign up for this. On the bright side, George was not intentionally causing harm. But now he had to explain to George that his friend was a psychopath.

“Um… George, there wasn’t a snack in that box,” he said slowly.

George raised his eyebrows. “What was it then?” There was a hint of anxiety in his voice, which only served to make Tubbo feel worse.

“It was… uh… it was a finger,” Tubbo said, trying not to remember Tommy passing out on the ground as soon as he got a better look at what was resting in the box, trying not to think about the overwhelming panic Tubbo felt as he shook his friend back into awareness.

George snorted. “Very funny, Tubbo,” he said, “Seriously, what was it?”

Come to think of it, saying there was a finger in a box would be amusing if it were out of context.

“I’m not lying,” Tubbo said, twisting the cuffs of his shirt, “It was Technoblade’s finger.”

George stared, his mouth slightly agape. “You’re joking,” he said, though he sounded less confident than before.

“Nope,” Tubbo said dully, “And then Dream told Tommy to meet him unarmed next week or else he would hurt Techno more.”

George stared at Tubbo, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Eventually, he stood up, pushing his chair loudly behind him.

“I-I need to go,” he muttered.

As George practically sprinted away, Tubbo wished that Dream would stop manipulating everyone. It would make things so much simpler.

Meanwhile, a wolf covered with blood held a small clump of pink hair in his mouth. Anyone to have seen him would’ve said that the wolf definitely had a destination in mind, not once looking back or turning around.

And the wolf did indeed have a destination in mind, as a matter of fact, he had a _person_ in mind.

The loud blond boy who had an annoying llama. The wolf needed to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will mention anyone in the notes of the next chapter who successfully guesses the identity of the dog AND his future role in the plot. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, please be nice in the comments, and thank you for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [Tumblr](https://mollypollykinz.tumblr.com/) now! Check it out if you want. There'll be chapter progress reports, sneak peeks, art, and maybe even some exclusive content if enough of you guys are interested.
> 
> Scream at me on [discord](https://discord.gg/nGgu5CdRT9).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Too Much](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431764) by [Ihasmagma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihasmagma/pseuds/Ihasmagma)
  * [i just really wanted to beat up c!dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814984) by Anonymous 




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